


Race Against the Machine

by Aoede



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Five Nights at Freddy's, Mach GoGoGo | Speed Racer, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Cybernetics, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Tickling, Song Lyrics, Song Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoede/pseuds/Aoede
Summary: Sequel toCenter of Peer Pressure. What started as a casual stop off at an otherwise inconspicuous pizza-and-games joint for a bite turns into a Nightmare Fuel-injected ordeal more on the level Speed's used to. However, this may be one guinea pig job he won't have a chance to escape – alive or intact.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Even barring the impending movie, the novels, and any other future game releases, Five Nights at Freddy's has turned out to have the kind of kudzu-style timeline as massive expanded universe series like The Legend of Zelda, Doctor Who, and King's Quest. That said, considering that this takes place just after Speed Racer TOS, i.e. 1967-68, ergo 1969, it lines up surprisingly close to the collective canon – off by _just one year_ , give or take. Though, of course, since Speed and co. aren't in any of the FNAF games, it remains to be an AU/T/H as labeled.
> 
> (¬‿¬)

“Speed, Chim-Chim and I’re hungry! Can we stop someplace to eat?”  
“Aw, c’mon, Spritle, we’re almost home – and I know Mom made you a big breakfast like always!”  
“I know but I used it all up already! Besides, I’m a growing boy and I need to eat lots more than you do! C’mon, Speed, pleasePLEASE?”

The chestnut-haired one turned to his younger brother and pet chimp for the few moments he could on a straightaway with no traffic, seeing their clasped hands, quivering lips and brilliant large begging eyes.

With a blink before the usual relenting close-eyed sigh, he faced forward; then glanced around eyeing the establishments on both sides of the road. “Well, if you see someplace you’d like to stop at; then let me know.”

“Yaaay!” Spritle cheered, he and the great ape in overalls bouncing in the passenger seat, then promptly clinging to the top of the door as they looked out, head turning quickly to and fro – lightly conking together as both spied a place coming up fast on the right. “There, there! See it, Speed? That place right there!”

Taking his foot off the accelerator, the taller boy turned again, following their frantically pointing fingers to a small squarish building with short, sloping brown tile roofs and neon lit signs above the entrance proclaiming ‘FAZBEAR’S FAMILY DINER’ with ‘PIZZA’ and ‘FUN’.

“Pizza, huh?” the chestnut-haired one mused, eyes briefly closing over a grin “Well, I haven’t had that in a long time. Good job, you two!”

“Hooray!” the smaller boy shouted; he and Chim-Chim leaping clear over the door like the elder. “Let’s go! Pizzapizzapizzapizza!”

“Hey, slow down!” Speed bid, making his own usual leap out before easily catching up to them with a quick long-legged stride. Pushing the door open for them, he peered inside with another curious blink and sweeping gaze beneath a lightly cocked eyebrow. “Looks pretty empty – I wonder why...”

“More pizza for us then!” his brother chimed quickly, scurrying up to one of the two small service counters on the near left next to one of the four stages. 

Oddly enough, the other three at the very back were empty, save for two figures: a tall anthropomorphic goldish-brown bear in a bowtie and top hat, and a rabbit of the same colors wearing only a bowtie. Their stillness and rather dead stares made even the ‘been through hell and back more than once’ champion racer shudder with a flinch.

At the sound of a voice saying “Hullo, hullo – welcome to Fazbear’s!” the taller boy pivoted, seeing a slightly older man dressed business casually now behind the counter. “What can I get you fellas?”

“Hey, Speed! Can Chim-Chim and I get a whole large pizza just for us?” his brother called out, turning.

Speed was about to answer when he suddenly heard another voice that made him cringe followed by his own – and the raucous laughter that had left his stomach muscles still faintly aching. Glimpsing the screen of the TV, he did catch the rewind of his ordeal – and the small group of kids sitting at the end of one table, watching and snickering.

“Jeez, would you turn that off, huh?” he muttered “Or can I?” looking over his shoulder at the server/possible manager who only chuckled.

“You can try,” he said, grinning, “Though you might not wanna raise your arms around those little misfits.” Said misfits heard him, even over the raised volume, and turned – and seeing Speed, certainly looked mischievous.

Grunting quietly, looking at Spritle with convex brows. “Hey, Spritle, I’ll buy you an extra-large with everything on it and all the soda and candy you want if you can keep those other kids off of me. Sound like a good deal?”

With a gasp and starry eyes, the smaller boy nodded vigorously, whirling around and sizing up the other kids, the chimp by his side widening his stance and raising his arms defensively. “Listen up! Nobody but nobody is gonna tickle the stuffing outta my big brother while we’re here except me and Chim-Chim. Do you all understand, huh?”

In the tense silence and annoyed faces that followed, the boy in beanie and overalls plucked his trusty slingshot from his pocket and fired a warning shot, the string’s twang echoing. Now the other kids all blinked rapidly before looking more sheepish.

“That’s what I though! Hmmph!”

His brother chuckled, segueing into a sigh with a brief headshake. “Well, that’s good enough I guess.”  
___

While the group of kids busied themselves with bagatelle, pinball, slots and shooters in the arcade corner, the chestnut-haired one leaned back in his chair, a hand lightly to his stomach. Spritle watched him, piping up “Are you SURE you don’t want another slice, Speed? You only had a few, and those were way smaller than ours.”

“Mm-mm,” the taller boy confirmed, “Thanks but I’m definitely full – I don’t know how you guys can do it! But you can have the last few of mine if you want, though.”

“Okay! Hand ‘em over!”

As his brother resumed messily tearing into cheese-and-pepperoni, Speed took his tray and plate and napkins to the trash, depositing the bright red plastic slab and chucking the rest. Suddenly, he heard the lone manager speak again, turning to see him standing surprisingly close. He seemed to be in the midst of looking him up and down. Smiling when his eyes met the boy’s again, he said “Say, I’ve been having some car trouble. I don’t suppose you’re as good at fixing cars as you are at driving ‘em?”

Grinning, the chestnut-haired one replied “Oh, sure! I do have a mechanic who’s a longtime very good friend of mine – but every good driver should at least know the basics of fixing a car in case something should happen to theirs.”

“That’s great! C’mon, my junker’s just outside around back. It’d be a treat and a half to have you tighten ‘er up.”  
“Certainly, sir! I’d be very glad to help you if I can.”  
___

Sliding back out from under the faded beige Rebel Coupe, Speed sat up for a moment to deliver his diagnosis. “Well, there’s a lot of rust on the undercarriage; your shock absorbers look loose and your brake drums are definitely worn out. I can scrape the rust and tighten the shock absorbers, but you should definitely see a mechanic about replacing the drums.” Grabbing a wrench from the man’s small toolbox with a forward lunge, he flopped back down and ducked back under, taking to the loose bolts and screws he’d noticed.

“Okay, gotcha, I’ll do that,” the older man said, a little louder so his impromptu mechanic could hear, “And thanks a ton again for all your help!” chuckling, “It’s a real once-in-a-miracle that you walked into my humble little pizzeria. A real treat, indeed.”

Not able to see the glint in his eyes, the boy snorted, replying “Well, we were driving home – but my kid brother said he was super hungry so we were looking for a good place and found yours. Your pizza’s very good!”

“Why thank you, young fella! Yeah, I’ve had this place for a while. It’s always done fine – but I believe pizza and kids’ entertainment is a real wave of the future.”  
“Mm, probably.”  
“Say, Speed, can you sing?”

Having to pause, blinking swiftly at the off-guard-catching question, the boy’s eyes darted unseen before he resumed his screw-tightening. “Well, uh…singing doesn’t have much to do with driving or racing, really!” and laughed again, only a bit nervously.

“Right – but you can be good at art or music as a hobby and still be a good driver, can’cha?”  
“But it’s not hobby of mine, either. Sorry.”  
“Well, can you at least try a little bit? Humor me – just for kicks, y’know…”

“Uh…well, maybe,” the chestnut-haired one uttered, feeling a little put off, but quickly brushing it aside. “But what d’you want me to sing?”

“Oh, anything you like,” the man said, staring intently at the car and the boy under it as if he had x-ray vision, unable to help a more maniacal ear-to-ear grin. “Just as long as it’s upbeat and maybe a little catchy. Just a bar or two.”

“Hmm, all right then…” Leading in with a string of na’s to the beat of the 1965 hit mushrooming in his head, he began “ _Gotta know how to pony / Like Bony Maronie / The Hot Potato, do the alligator / Put your hand on your hips, yeah / Let your backbone slip / Do the Watusi / Like my little Lucy_ …” and mumbled some of the words he’d forgotten before returning to the chorus of na’s, foot tapping.

“Oh, that’s perfect! Just perfect. Thank you so much, Speed,” the diner owner bid, hands rubbing together. He quickly tucked them behind his back when the boy slid out, sitting up again with a goofy grin.

“Heheheh! No problem, sir. That was fun, actually…” Speed said, turning and reaching into the box again, kneeling by the front left tire. “Since I tightened the shock absorbers, I’ll tighten the hubcaps too for now until you can drive this to a mechanic.”

“Great! Thanks,” the older man echoed; then making a slow lean down to snatch up the toolbox – and swing it hard across the back of the chestnut-haired one’s skull. The resonating conk was quite loud.

Naturally, the boy grunted much louder with a wince before he opened his eyes, only for them to roll, a groan escaping his throat as he collapsed rightward into a heap.

“You’ve helped me SO MUCH, Speed…” his server turned attacker reiterated with a dry chuckle.  
___

Spritle and the chimp twitched, turning toward the back, blinking. “Hey, what was that?!” he uttered, still clutching his current pizza crust. “You heard that too, right, Chim-Chim?”

The great ape in overalls nodded vigorously.

“Wonder what it was? I hope nothing bad’s happened to Speed…”

Then suddenly, as if cued, one of the kids he’d threatened earlier approached the table, a girl, who batted her eyes and sweetly asked “Hey, Spritle! You wanna come play games with us if you’re finished with your pizza?”

One of the boys walked up beside her, adding “You get a ticket if you win, and if you get lots of tickets, they’ll give you lots of toys and candy and stuff!”

“You can get candy just for playing games?!” the smaller boy echoed, eyes sparkling with self-indulgence again “Sure! Lemme at ‘em!” and jumped down from his seat. Chim-Chim threw one last glance over his shoulder in the direction that the older man and Speed had gone, then shrugged and ambled after Spritle and the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Speed sings: https://youtube.com/watch?v=3mz_EXHKGHs


	2. Chapter 2

“Nn…nnh…ngh…” the chestnut-haired one groaned, lids twitching with a light flinch as consciousness finally came back to him, along with the ache of the since-cooled welt the toolbox’s whack had left. He felt smooth cold concrete under his jaw as he lay not-quite-facedown. “Stupid…stupid…gotta stop doing that…”

Then a rather close-sounding loud nasally cackle echoed off the walls at his meek mumbles, making him twitch, hold still for a moment, then groan again.

“Oh, no…please no…not him…again…”

“Well, well, well …look at the little lab rat that wandered right back into the Snake’s Den! Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalkin’ me, Speed…heheheh, I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Eughh, Snake…” was the Racer boy’s only reply before finally pushing himself to a kneel with quivering arms, flopping back against the wall like his fellow captive with a flinch. Finally opening his eyes, he stared dizzily at his legs before glancing at his right arm as he lifted it. “Nngh…why do I feel so heavy? And why does my skin feel so tight?”

Hearing a snort, he turned to the Car Acrobat – twitching to see him without his usual helmet. As the other dark-wavy-haired young man whirled around he blinked rapidly, brows convex with a nervous smile.

“Ohh! …eheh…guess you lost your fangs,” Speed joked quietly.

Snake angled his brows over his greenish-brown eyes in an intense glare “Shut. Up!” he snipped, parting his lips for a quite literal hiss, baring appropriately sharp canines. Closing his eyes with a sharp sigh, he leaned back, sliding his arms into their usual tight fold to his chest, even sliding his knees closer. “And as for why you’re feelin’ funny, well, welcome to the club…heck, I probably wouldn’t even know myself if I hadn’t’ve looked over when John started screamin’…”

“Huh?” the chestnut-haired one uttered, brows rising, subconsciously following Oiler’s darting glance – eyes nearly popping as he realized the company they were in. “John Surtees! And…Janet Guthrie! Oh…”

“Hullo, Speed,” Surtees bid, looking weary in his hunch. “Don’t believe everything this little braggart spits at you…”

“Mm, yeah, I know,” Racer muttered, lids lowering, glancing back at the Car Acrobat.

Snake twitched, tensing with another glare and a snap of “Neither a’ you know a lick a’ nothin’!”

“It was quite an ordeal, though…” admitted Guthrie, giving their newest a weak smile. “We’ve been holed up here ever since. Waiting.”

“Ohh, waiting for what?!” Speed asked, brows convex as he looked at her.

“To ‘go on’ I guess…is what he told us…” John added.

“Go on? Go where?”

“Stage, dummy,” Oiler snapped. With a snort, he let his gaze fall with a sly bid of “Check your feet, Speed…”

In a blink, the chestnut-haired one looked down, unfolding his legs – and noticing a glimpse of metal, gasped, tugging his right foot up on his left thigh. Pausing with a wince as a strange sharp pain flared briefly, he stared incredulous and incredulouser at what looked like a sizeable metal pipe sticking out of his shoe. 

Noticing that the sole of his loafer circled rather neatly close around the shiny cylinder, he clawed his shoe off with a lunge and trembling fingers. Seeing his sock cut likewise, he tugged it off as well to finally see that, yes, the hollow metal was extending straight out of the center of his foot. If his heart got beating any faster, it might’ve turned over like an engine.

“What IS this?! WHAT’S GOING ON?” he shouted, scrambling back against the wall instinctively, hearing the scrape of his strange new extremity and feeling a strange resonating pang that made him wince once more.

Snake only chuckled again, snatching up his shoe and sock, holding them away as the chestnut-haired one reached for them, flailing in trying to grab them back.

“Hey! Give those back, Snake!”

And very suddenly, very eerily, he did. With a twitch and a grunt that had his eyes widening briefly, his arm swung down not of his own accord, holding out Speed’s modified sock and shoe. As his arm trembled, the Car Acrobat grunted, swinging a glance upward toward a worn out speaker by a vent. “You…bastard…”

Now another laugh rang out from the speaker, and one Speed couldn’t help recognize. “Mr. Fazbear!”

“Those’re your Blocking Stilts, Speed,” he explained in more eerie calm and a much more proper-sounding dialect, “I keep them out now so you don’t go running off.” With a loud clink, the metal then receded level with the flesh, immediately popping back out. “Hm, not that there’s anywhere FOR you to run right now. I’ve made sure of that.”

“Blocking Stilts?!” Racer looked around again, now noticing the same protrusions on the others, snapping his head back in line with the source of their captor’s voice. “What did you –?”

“You’ve all been fitted with a top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art metal endoskeletons, fitted and grafted quite nicely to your regular skeletons. With these I have COMPLETE CONTROL over ALL OF YOU.”

The others couldn’t help twitching and flinching, even Oiler – once he was sure his rival wasn’t looking; holding his gaze, sweat beading fast on his temples.

“Hmhm…I could switch your breathing to manual, if you’d like, Speed.”

“Ohhhh!” the chesnut-haired one cried, clutching a hand to his chest.

“But I’ll leave that for now. Take your things and put them back on – or don’t if you’re so inclined. I can have our intern finish dressing you later. Make no mistake, you will perform for me. You will ALL perform for me.”

“So THAT’S why you asked me to sing for you before!” Speed thought aloud, while carefully sliding his sock and shoe back on, “I THOUGHT that was an awfully strange thing to say!”

“Yes, and you WILL sing for me. And many others. And it’s very nice to know I don’t have to do much tweaking to your brain or vocal chords for you to sound nice enough for the crowds.”  
“Crowds?”  
“Yes, Speed. Or should I say…Speedster Raceway, my NEWEST attraction. The STAR of Speedster Raceway’s Pizzeria: a brand new, racing themed restaurant. The fun and thrill of the track for adults and kids alike! Clunky singing bears and bunnies and chickens are OUT! Car driver stars are IN! And you will all make me a TON of money...and fame, of course. Can you imagine? Think of all the racing fans who’ll flock with their families, parents and kids delighted to stuff their faces and play games and listen to the exciting adventures in song of THE Speedster Raceway, young, brave, racing champ!”

While said star attraction now stared on in slack-jawed abject horror, Snake only snickered. “Heheheh! His name was already goofy, ya didn’t need to clown it up that much more! Speedster…Raceway…what a –!”

“And THAT will be enough out of you, Snakey,” Fazbear decreed. Oiler’s prompt seizing and collapse was enough to tear the Racer boy out of his shock.

“Snake! SNAKE!” he cried, leaning over him, shaking at the sight of his dull-open-eyed stillness, like the cyborg puppet this man had made him. All of them.

“Are you ready for your debut, Speedster?” their captor asked, sounding as if he was grinning while saying it.

The chestnut-haired one stared down the speaker again, teeth gritted, stomach flopping, pulse pounding, sweat still dripping. Assuming what the man had said about the endoskeletons was true, he couldn’t be sure that his next words were his own, but voiced them fairly solidly nonetheless. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Good boy. Now you can power down, too. Take a rest before your big showtime. HMhmhm…”

And like another knock to the noggin combined with a surge of anesthesia, Speed felt himself fade and fall back to the floor, mind slipping under.  
___

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Speedster Raceway Enterprises would like you to put your hands together, for THE ONE, THE ONLY…Speedster Raceway!”

The music started up as the red curtain light-patterned with car, tire, and trophy prints parted, revealing the famous quartet on their custom stage with plenty of red-and-yellow checkered banners. Janet stood stationed to the viewers’ right, clutching a trophy with one hand and a hoisted plastic plate with a likewise inedible and slightly uneven stack of cookies as available at the counter in the other. Snake sat behind a drumset, sticks in hand, a rose clutched in his teeth, going well with his eyes, visible as his helmet had been returned, but his visor had been raised. John stood on a separate small stage a ways to the viewer left, one foot in an incomplete replica of the Ferrari F1 he’d been famous for rounding turns with at the 1966 BRDC International.

Speed, of course, stood at the center of the main stage, posed in such a way that definitely warranted the stilts: a sharp lean on his left foot, his right hoisted as if mid-kick, hanging just below his hip; his trunk was mostly upright, his right arm in a bend just above the curve of his ribs with hand clutching a microphone, his head cocked, not quite leaning on his more rigid raised left arm, turned with fingers in a peace sign so as not to look like a nastier sort of salute.

“Oh! Hi there, everybody!” he bid cheerfully, waving said raised hand, slowly repositioning as he went on, “Are you ready for a great race? I know I sure am!” and paused for another intro drum beat from Oiler before his eyes nearly closed in a wide grin as he spoke into his mic. “Go! GO!”

The lot of them began singing in perfect harmony. “ _At Speedster Raceway’s Pizza, kids come in number one! Speedster Raceway’s Pizza, high flying racecar fun_!”

“Hey, meet Team Raceway!” the chestnut haired one coaxed, now right leg forward, left leg back on the toe of his shoe, waist turned, right arm out in front of him, bent at the elbow, mic to his lips, left arm behind him in almost the same bend his right had been before. “ _My name is Speedster, youngest racer of them all. My car is the Cool Rockin’ Five. I’ve raced from New York, New York, across to Tokyo – I’m always more than ready to drive_!”

“ _Snakey’s my name, my car’s Oiled Lightning, an acrobat on the track_!” Snake sang, eyes closing with a faint sneer, “ _Drummin’ up my spirit, can’t ya hear it? Speedster better watch your back_!” 

The two shared a glance briefly with Racer uttering a still-grinning “Uh-oh! Ohh, no!” before Oiler laid into his drums with an intense solo, ending with a cymbal smash that echoed like a loud hiss.

At that point, the four took to the chorus again. “ _Speedster Raceway’s Pizza, race for fun, prizes, and treats! Speedster Raceway’s Pizza, we’re always turning up the heat_!”

Finally, Guthrie sprung to life, even moving forward a bit, glancing at the guys. “ _Hey, I’m Janet! Girls can race and win too, Indy, Daytona and more_!”

“A’ course!” Snake piped up.

“ _I’ve ranked from first to top rookie – but a BIG PIZZA is my favorite score_!”

“ _And last but not least, Johnny_!” Speed sang as Surtees’s prop car slid out with the sound of a revving engine and a few puffs of dry ice for smoke, “ _He’s raced bikes and cars of every kind! He’ll pass you quick on the hairpin turn, so keep speeding toward that finish line_!”

The four of them gave a “VROOOOM!” before joining in another chorus. “ _Speedster Raceway’s Pizza, the excitement’s always neat! Speedster Raceway’s Pizza, now let’s RACE! And PLAY! And EAT!_ ”  
___

The showtime tune slowly faded out as the scene on the stage faded into a picture of the restaurant’s façade, showing a sign featuring simple caricatures of the four big racing names above the establishment’s name on the main sign above flashing neon lights – and on the TV screen toward the end of the commercial, text reading 1-555-RACEWAY CALL NOW.

As Trixie walked into the family room looking down at Spritle and his chimp, both missed it by seconds. “Spritle, are you SURE you didn’t see Speed anywhere after that?”

“I TOLD you a million times already, Trixie! Both he AND that Mr. Fazbear were gone by the time I went outside! And Elizabeth said her dad said Speed was helping him take his car to get it fixed!”

“Well, that sounds awfully suspicious to me, don’t you think?”  
“I know – I’m sorry but I got distracted with games and candy!”  
“Well, that’s not going to help us find your brother, now is it?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sI9sDa0QhXM
> 
> (¬‿¬)


	3. Chapter 3

“Nnhm…” _Twenty-five shows._ “…twenty five shows…” ‘Speedster’ mumbled, feeling his brain boot again slowly. Blinking, he stared at the ceiling – eyes briefly widening as he realized “Hey, wait a minute! This isn’t our storage room, where am I?”

With a grunt, he went to sit up – and found he couldn’t. He could lift his head, but everything below his neck was completely unresponsive.

“Ohhh! I can’t move! Well, anything besides my head, I guess…but why?” Gaze slowly rising, he now saw the terrified but intrigued looking face of a young man who couldn’t have been much older than him. His clothes looked casual, but he did have a nametag pinned to his shirt: INTERN JOSH M. The one Fazbear had casually mentioned before, no doubt. Donning his politest smile despite convex brows, the chestnut-haired one bid “Hiya…”

Suddenly, an announcer’s voice above them boomed “See? Speedster is as friendly as he looks! Don’t be shy!” making them both flinch. “But our star attraction has been busy doing several shows this week, and needs a good thorough cleaning to be ready for all his races and shows next week!”

“Cleaning?!” Racer repeated, eyes wide, mouth corner twitching “Oh, no! Ohhhh nonono – cleaning means TICKLING! No wonder he kept me awake for this!” and quickly turned his head, eyes shut tight. “No! Nononononononono…!”

A chuckle from the speaker voice, then “Now please don’t be alarmed if he giggles or begs – Speedster’s a little ticklish.” A pause and another monosyllabic chuckle that bordered on a snort. “Well, a little more than a LITTLE ticklish…”

Softly glaring up, Racer made a red-cheeked pouting face that, as Snake had once put it, was “Finally proof he and the monkey kid are related! Hahaha!”

Hearing Josh chuckle as well, looking a bit calmer, the chestnut-haired one sighed, smiling weakly. It looked as if this boy had been dragged into this almost as much as he and the other racers had; no sense in making it worse for him. Their beef was with their captor.

“Let’s start at the top,” the announcer continued. “Press the red button on the bottom of the control panel to prep the Hair-Comber, Face-Scrubber, and Toothbrusher.” Glancing up, Josh nodded, stepping forward and looking down at said panel as he did so carefully with an index finger, quickly looking up.

Speed twitched, staring up as one of the many mechanisms hanging from the ceiling moved down closer to him. He spied a comb and a handful of little spin brushes, not sure which would be the toothbrush, along with a few nozzles. He continued to watch it, blinking as the intern received further instructions.

“To activate the Hair-Comber, press the top white button across from the red button.”

The chestnut-haired one heard a click, flinching and grunting as the comb-bearing arm swung down, brushing a bit roughly through his pompadour. Opening one eye, he let out a snorting sigh as it did scratch a few itches and the extra airflow from his fluffed hair did feel good after a few minutes. Finally it ceased.

“To activate the Face-Scrubber, press the middle white button across from the red button.”

Getting a quick spray of soap and hot water from the nozzles, Racer flinched, grinning, and giggling as predicted when the circular brushes descended, spinning ticklishly along his forehead, cheeks, nose, and jawline – even extending to his ears and neck, sweeping swiftly under his nape and making him jump. “Hmhmhmhmhm! HMHMhmhmHM! Yaiee!”

“Good. Now to open Speedster’s mouth for the Toothbrusher, quickly press both the small buttons located behind his ears. You should hear a click – and possibly some additional noise.”

“Huh?!” the chestnut-haired one uttered, watching Josh jog up to the table he lay on, sliding his cold sweaty hands past his jaws, pressing two fingers behind his ears. To his horror as indicated, the star attraction felt his jaws forcefully spring open – and couldn’t close them. “AAH!”

“Excellent. Now to activate the Toothbrusher, go ahead and press the bottom white button across from the red button.”

Now two more of the spinny brushes extended, sliding into his held-open mouth, gliding over both rows of teeth and gums and even scrubbing the inside of his cheeks, roof of mouth, and tongue a bit, all with a spray of more hot water and now a strongly minty toothpaste. He swallowed the extra froth out of instinct, then getting another spray of water – which regardless of temperature, he needed. Not having spent too much time at the dentist’s before, he had never realized how ticklish the inside of his mouth was as well, uttering an “Ahahaha! HAaahaha!” as the brushes lingered for another few moments.

“Great! Speedster’s ready to flash a nice clean smile at all his fans again. Please close his mouth and then raise his arms back over his head.”

The relief of returned voluntary jaw movement was fleeting with helplessly watching the intern dutifully bare his underarms. “NOhoho, PLEASE!” Now the boy gave him the same sort of convex-browed smile before darting back off toward the panel.

“It gets awfully hot singing and dancing under all those stage lights. Please activate the Pit-Sweat-Scrubber by pressing the blue button on the control panel, and set the timer for ten minutes.”

“Tehen mihinuhutes?!” Speed echoed, half-anticipatorily giggling, half-already sobbing. “YAAHAHAHAHAHAA!” After two of those minutes, the brushes making circles began to move in wider-and-narrower circles themselves, making his pitch jump.

As Josh lightly masked a yawn, hunching over the panel, the speaker voice boomed over ‘Speedster’s’ howling “For your cooperation and patience, please enjoy a complimentary 24 oz. Speedster Raceway Enterprises brand coffee. Packed with enough caffeine to keep you up until the exciting conclusion! …or at the very least, until the end of your shift. And for when you need a pitstop, there is a restroom located two doors down the hall you entered through to your left.”

The Belly Scrubber functioned much the same, extending to the chestnut-haired one’s ribs and back, almost making him wish for another round with the Toothbrusher. The worst of it was the appropriately named Undercarriage Scrubber. No undressing or other moving necessary, it seemed, but still invasive enough to get his cheeks flushing as he yawped “OHONLY TRIHIXIE TOUHOUCHES THEHERE!”

Josh looked up from his bored lean, blinking. His eyes met Speed’s, the star attraction still giggling at the included leg-and-knee scrub – though he looked sheepish.

“Sohorryhehe!” he called out. The intern only shrugged with a slow shake of his head.

“Okay, great! You’re almost done. Now you just need to give Speedster’s feet a good scrub. Press the top white button next to the yellow button to clean his heels.”

If he weren’t still helplessly laughing, Racer might have yawned as well. Not exactly backbreaking, but such tedious repetitive work. What were they paying this kid? Oh, right, intern. Squat – and a large coffee. Made sense enough.

“Press the middle white button to clean his toes,” the announcer droned. “Please set the timer for five minutes.”

“Not the toes!” the chestnut-haired one squeaked out of habit as the two sets of four tiny brushes all in a row descended, whirling relentlessly between them. “HEHEHEE! AHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Great job! Now, last but not least of all are Speedster’s Blocking Stilts. They help Speedster move around on stage to dance and sing for the kids and make that famous Le Mans leap into his Cool Rockin’ Five!”

_Snake was right, that name is so lame!_ Speed thought … _I’ve gotta admit, Oiled Lightning sounds pretty cool. Heh, if he only knew I was really envying him for a change. Though…I DO envy him and all the others that didn’t have to be AWAKE for this TORTURE!_ He briefly recalled another announcer’s blatant taunt from weeks ago.

_“Well, Speed, that’s because there’s nobody on EARTH quite as ticklish as you – or HALF as fun to watch being tickled as you!”  
“W – th – that CAN’T be true!”_

_Maybe that jerk was in league with Mr. Fazbear or something_ … Racer mused to himself. Then, suddenly, recalled another memory.

_“Turn him over…there. Now mark the cut…right there…”_  
_“Hmhmhm! HMHMhmhmHMHMHM!”_  
_“Looks like somebody’s ticklish…”_  
_“Too ticklish! All his jumping is going to wear off the relaxant!”_  
_“Here, here, turn him over…there, open his eyes…hold them open…wait…”_  
_“There, that should work…turn him back over…”_  
_“Huh, whaa…ohh…whaa…wha ah yu…doin thu mee…?”_  
_“Heh! Looks like that nerve anesthetic kicked in nicely…now you won’t feel a thing!”_  
_“No…thdap…”_

Oiler had mentioned John screaming at the procedure to insert the endoskeleton. No doubt he hadn’t needed the nerve number, and probably felt “the cut” and everything else. Was that worse than this tickle-torture of a wash, though? Again, if he could’ve chosen, he’d take the pain any day. Couldn’t have been worse than any big scrape he got into on the track – or off.

In his reverie, he hadn’t quite heard the announcer mention the special polishers needed for the stilts. He hadn’t seen the intern push the right button in his genuine intrigue – but now suddenly felt the more-than-unrelenting whir of the special brushes. It not only tickled like crazy, but that insane tickle rocketed up the stilts and vibrated through every last inch of his endoskeleton. It went radiating through his feet, ankles, legs, hips, belly, ribs, chest, arms, hands, and head. Back to front, ringing and tingling faster at the biological extremities, like his toes and ears. His eyes popped open, quickly squeezing shut as the tickling spread out to his lashes. He didn’t even so much as flail his head anymore, not only because his arms were still in the way, but because it only made everything worse.

“HAAHA…! AIIIEEEHEHA…!” Stomach pumping hard and fast with silent laughter, he gasped down the breath to literally scream “TURN IT OFF! TUHURN IHIT OHOFF! TURNITOFFTURNITOFFTURNITOFFTURNITOFFTURNITOFF! TUHUHURN IHIHIT…OHOHOFF…!” Another screechily sucked in breath had him squeaking “Turnitoffturnitoffturnitoff!” as tears trickled steadily down his temples. “Tuuuuurn iiiiiit oooooooff!”

Finally, mercifully, it stopped. Shaking with genuine sobs, ‘Speedster’ gasped for more breath, trying to catch his. With a groan, he let his jaw rest on his left arm as the voice spoke. “Okay, that’s everything. Does Speedster look good and clean to you? If yes, press the red arrow button. If no, press the green arrow button.”

There was a click. Racer was too dazed to react.

“Okay, great! Speedster is all cleaned and polished from head to toe and ready for his next week of showtimes. Please log your time on the sign in-sign out sheet in the breakroom, and you can head home for the night. See you next time!”

Josh nodded at the speaker, gaze falling to the crying ‘animatronic’ with a frown. With a visible close-eyed sigh, the boy walked slowly up to the table, tugging the chestnut-haired one’s arms back down to his sides and giving his hand a few pats with that same ‘Sorry, man…’ sort of smile. Then turned, quickly snagging his not-quite-empty coffee cup and heading out the door, shutting it.

Speed managed a weak smile. Not exactly a sadist. Again, probably just trying to put a resume together between high school and college. For a brief moment, Racer wished he was back home, and imagined himself coaxing the kid into a car racing career. He could mentor him with the Mach Five and maybe he wouldn’t ever have to take such a sketchy night shift ever again. One that made fly-by-night work look like inheriting a million.

Unfortunately, Fazbear seemed to have realized this as well. The following week, a much meaner face greeted him in the cleaning room. The nametag read: INTERN TOWNSEND C.

“Okay, that’s everything. Does Speedster look good and clean to you? If yes, press the red arrow button. If no, press the green arrow button.”  
“You’ve indicated that despite our best efforts, Speedster’s still looking a little grubby. Please indicate which area seems in need of more attention. … You’ve indicated that Speedster could use another once over. All right, then we’ll give this another shot. Please press the red button on the bottom of the control panel to prep the Hair-Comber, Face-Scrubber, and Toothbrusher.”  
“Ohh…ohhhh noooooo…!”

The new intern looked rather pleased with himself as he slowly sipped his hot coffee.

“You’ve indicated that despite our best efforts, Speedster’s still looking a little grubby. Please indicate – you’ve indicated that Speedster’s Blocking Stilt polish was not as thorough as it could’ve been. To activate the Special Stilt Polisher, please press the bottom white button next to the yellow button.”

“NOOOOOOOOOHOHOHO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UzemAbz8pmY&t=2m48s


	4. Chapter 4

Back in the small storage room, Snake leaned against the wall closest to the door, contentedly nuzzling his rose. Turning to Janet now sitting to his left, he held it in front of her face. “See? It’s fresh!”

“It’s plastic,” Guthrie countered with a tired smirk.

Oiler pouted, yanking it back “It’s fresh plastic!” sniffing it again “It smells like her perfume!”

“It smells like air freshener.”  
“Aw, your nose must be all stuffed up.”

Closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep hiff, the woman mused “Nope! Cleaning took care of that.” Pausing, “And by the feel of it, a few other things I’d rather not think about. Though, I do feel…well, fresh.”

The female racer was just over thirty, certainly not teenage, but even without cosmetics, she could’ve passed for twenty. Short wavy blonde hair, skin almost as smooth as the surrounding concrete, and sparkling hazel-blue eyes. Despite his vocal loyalty to his girlfriend, even Speed had often held his gaze on her with a sigh and a smile.

“Oh yeah?” Snake mused, faintly grinning.

“I meant my breath, Snake,” she said, puffing into her hand and blowing it at him, “See? Minty!”

With a roll of his eyes, Oiler batted the air. “Yeah, yeah, my breath reeks the same…” Sighing, he glanced toward the door, adding “And WHERE is –?”

As if on cue, a still-giggling Speed flew into the room in a toss, rolling a ways across the floor – and from where he slid to a stop, continued rocking on his back, arms and hands curled tight to his chest a wide grin plastered on his face as he squeakily mumbled “No…it ticklesitticklesittickles…no, please…I can’t stand it…I’m too ticklish…it tickles…it tickles…it ticklllllles…!”

“Speak of the giggle monkey,” Snake uttered with a chuckling snort, waving a hand at the chestnut-haired one. “Hey, Speed…Speedster…tickle boy…idiot…hey!” and finally poked him in the stomach.

“GYAAHAHAA!” Eyes wide, Racer flipped past him, landing and sliding back on elbows and knees. Finally coming out of his daze, he rose with a whine of “ _I_ want the Oiled Lightning! …huh?” before blinking rapidly.

The wavy-brown-haired boy let out another whooping cackle, kicking and slapping his thigh. “HahaHAAaa! I knew it, I KNEW IT! I KNEW you were jealous!” As the chesnut-haired one crawled back to his usual slumped sit to his right, he brandished the rose. “Now be even MORE jealous ‘a me, huh? Look what I got!”

“Huuh?” Speed echoed, “Hey, they let you keep that?”

“Nah, this is a new one!” Snake insisted, clutching it to his chin again, launching into the same story he’d regaled the others with earlier. “After the last show, one heckuva beauty comes walkin’ up to the stage, an’ I toss her my rose and she catches it and then gets one from the gift shop n’ throws it back an’ I catch it. And she just giggles and says –” he put flat palms to his cheeks, tilting his head back and forth like a metronome, pitching his voice up a bit “– oh, Snake! I’m just a New England college girl with a live-in boyfriend n’ everything, but I’ve ALWAYS had the hots for you! Come down off ‘a that stage and sweep me off my feet and into your car that’s WAY cooler than Speed’s and drive us off into the sunset, you super handsome king cobra!” and hissed through a grin.

Racer stared at him with a dull-eyed blink before turning to Janet. “So what really happened?”

Oiler bristled, baring his teeth. “Weren’t you listenin’?!”

With a soft chuckling snort, Guthrie said “He managed to bite through the one he had, so a new stagehand stuffed another one in his collar. Guess nobody noticed it so he wound up with it.”

“Ah…uh-huh,” the chestnut-haired one said, raising his head a bit with another nod.

“Although…I DID see one college girl heading out with a…surprising amount of Snake’s merchandise,” Janet noted, glancing toward the door.

While they were programmed to speak and sing on stage and not in control of themselves – twofold from said programming and the hidden mechanisms beneath the stage that their stilts were tightly fastened to – the four still retained some consciousness of themselves and the world around them. Somewhat like being deep in a surgical sleep, still sensing things while being otherwise out cold. 

“Hm, maybe she has a bratty little brother who looks up to him,” Speed suggested with a grin.

“Oh yeah?!” Snake snapped, quickly snatching up Racer’s near ankle. “How’re those stilts doin’, Speed? Let’s see…ooh, they look extra shiny!”

“Snake, no, DON’T!” the chesnut-haired one cried, lightly grunting as he pivoted, flopping on his back – then bursting into more giggles as Oiler drummed his fingers and knocked his knuckles on the ends, making more maddening albeit much smaller vibrations. “TheHEy’re still sensiHItiHIve! Lemme go! GaHAha!”

“Aw, ease up on him, Snakey,” Surtees bid sagely from the far wall. “We’re all in this same race for our sanity together, y’know?”

“So says you, old man,” Oiler grumbled, folding his arms and stuffing the plastic rose back between his teeth, lightly gnawing on it like a high school student biting a pencil. Again, the Brit was only thirty-five, though certainly the oldest. Like Janet, however, he didn’t quite look it either.

Racer rubbed the end of his left stilt on his right pant cuff as he sat back against the wall, closing his eyes, folding his arms as well with a sigh and adding “John’s right. We don’t know exactly where Fazbear got his crazy idea to string us all up like this, but we’ve GOT to get out of it somehow. There’s GOT to be a way…!”

“Just like the last leg of the Alpine Race, huh, Speedster?” Snake jabbed.

“Something like that,” Speed said, opening one eye in a reverse wink.

“Yeah, well, now you don’t have Racer X to molly-baby-coddle ya, or your real precious Mach Five. So how’re you gonna do that?”  
“Well, we’ll have to work together.”  
“So we drawing straws again?”  
“NO, Snake – we ALL have to pitch in equally to find a way to get us out of here.”  
“So what’s your plan, Tickle Boy?”

The chestnut-haired one gave him a look with a throaty growl of a sigh to match.

“DO you have a plan, Speed?” Janet asked, looking him in the eyes.

Caught in hers again for a moment, Racer looked sheepish, clutching at his hairline “Er, no, not really…but like I said, I KNOW there’s got to be a way we can make an escape somehow,” and beginning “Maybe…” though glancing down, letting his arm drop as he trailed off. “…mm…”

“What if we wait ‘til night, break out of here and thoroughly spook whoever’s guarding the place?” Surtees suggested. “Then we’ll have them running for the hills and we’ll have a clear path to the exit, a clean getaway – an indisputable win!”

“You’re assumin’ Mister Fuzzy-Wuzzy gives any kinda care to have ANYbody lookin’ after us at night,” Oiler quipped. “And what if we can’t get through the main door? He’ll have footage of us dorkin’ around after hours and messin’ up the place. And he’ll mess US up good once he gets back.”

“Good point,” Guthrie admitted, gaze and face falling as well.

“THANK YOU.”

“Mmn…I’m sorry, but there’s GOT to be a way. I refuse to give up!” Speed reiterated with a snort. Jumping with another giggle at a sudden side squeeze from the wavy-brown-haired one, gritting his teeth with a half-flinch, he added “EHEhe! Eheven if it means tickle-torture, I don’t care! I’m getting us OUT of here once and for all!” and in his energy, leapt to his feet – managing to balance on his stilts, albeit with a teeter or two. “Ohhhh! I DID it!”

“Way to GO, Speed!” Janet cheered.

“Great going, Speed!” John echoed.

Legs still trembling, arms half-wittingly spreading, the chestnut-haired one grinned down at himself, then looked at the others. “I know we’ve had some nasty falls before, but we’ve ALL GOT to try again! If we don’t try we’ll NEVER have the chance to get out of here! Come on, you can DO IT!”

Snake grimaced, but muttered another “Yeah, well…” and tried to push himself to a stand. He wobbled and fell against the wall with a grunt, but with a growl of his own, slowly pushed himself enough to evenly stand. Now too, trembling with a small spread of his arms for balance.

“Nice work, Snake!” Racer bid, giving him a thumbs-up.

Slowly, Guthrie and Surtees followed suit, getting some help from the younger two. For the moment, they all practiced walking on their extended stilts. They made faces as they marched around the small space in various formations, limbs aching from no real use. And each had another crash to the unforgiving concrete floor – but even with scrapes and bruises, they gritted their teeth and bared it.

“Well, that felt better than I expected,” John asserted, despite rubbing a slightly swollen jaw.

“Mm, mm-hm,” the chestnut-haired one agreed with another nod, clutching his arm.

“How’s your arm, Speed?” Janet asked.

“Fine, how’s your shoulder?”  
“Better, thanks. Even if it still hurts.”

“Mm…now all we need to do is find a way to open this door,” Speed thought aloud, walking up to it and peering through it. 

His stilts beneath his already lengthy legs put his head a ways above the small door. The door had an otherwise tight frame that didn’t let any light and barely any noise in, and no light from the bare chain bulb or much of their conversations or crawling and crashing around out. Again, however, the design faltered at the very top, leaving a small space to see and somewhat hear through.

“It’s dark, but I think I CAN see something else lit up…and someone else here, too. Maybe John’s got the right idea.” The chestnut-haired one’s eyes keened. “And if Fazbusted is still using that bully of an intern, boy would I like some payback!”

“So we do the old ‘get them to open the door for us’ thing?” Surtees asked. “But how? We make noise in here all the time and nobody comes running to check on us.”

“Yeah, even when you’re squeakin’ and squealin’ as bad as you do from downstairs, like we can hear through the vents,” Oiler noted – making Racer give him another droop-lidded look and breathy growl.

“Then we’ll just have to make a different kind of noise, and get their attention another way…” Speed said, turning to the chain-dangled lightbulb, lunging for it like an opponent in a wrestling match with a louder roar to boot.

Townsend idly eyed one more magazine from the tiny, dimly lit office up the hall. However, the flash and sound of the bulb as it broke along with a louder rumble than he’d heard previously got him peeking around the corner down the hall. One brow raised, he lifted his smudgy fingers from the page to click on the light briefly. Nothing there. Snorting with a shake of his head, the intern returned to his lazy lean back, clicking his tongue and leafing to the next page.

Then another loud sound echoed up the hall, like something smashing into a door violently. With another pause and light check, the intern blinked. “QUIET DOWN BACK THERE!” he shouted. As the light clicked off, the sound seemed to stop.

Then just as he’d returned his focus to the mag, there came a quite clear shrill shriek like something out of a haunted house – or maybe an extremely squeaky hinge. Either way, it was soon followed by more door smashing.

Stomping out into the hall, Townsend hollered again “I SAID ‘QUIET’!” He’d just turned around when the noise started again. There didn’t seem to be a discernible pattern – except to sound off again just when he was sure it was over.

With a fed-up sigh, the intern tossed his magazine on the desk and stalked down the hall toward the storage room. With another, softer sigh, he unlocked the door and tugged it open, peering in. It was even darker than the dim light that flooded the hall from the office, and he could just see a few glass shards on the floor.

“Stupid gizmos…” he muttered with a more vigorous shake of his head, “How’d you break the dang light?”

He didn’t get an answer, not expecting one – but twitched as he heard a slow mushrooming hiss. His eyes darted, then warily settled on the figures slumped against the wall. He’d barely taken another step before Racer sprang to life with another roar, pouncing on the unpaid night guard, who screeched.

“Surprise!” Speed bid, rolling on the floor and flinging Townsend toward the room with a judo throw, though making sure to steer him clear of the sharp shards as best he could. “COME ON, EVERYBODY, LET’S GO!”

“WHAT THE HELL?!” they heard the intern bellow as they clamored up the hall on their stilts, sprinting for the main doors. Breathing audibly, he scrambled for the office, swinging in with a grab to the doorframe and smashing the button to lockdown the main doors with a fist.

“Sidewinders! He’s closin’ down the doors on us, we’re screwed!” Snake yelled.

“Just keep going!” the chestnut-haired one bid breathlessly, flinching at the scrape of his stilts on the hall floor. Feeling a cold pulse that rippled numbly as the clear door swung fast, he made a dive for it – going from smooth tile to not so smooth asphalt.

Grunting as he picked himself up, he briefly put a hand to his scraped stomach, quickly glancing back hearing Oiler’s yelp and hearing thuds. The automatic door had clamped down hard on his wrist, trapping him and the other two. Speed’s stomach sunk at the sight, wincing.

Taking a step back however, he shouted “I’LL GO GET HELP, I PROMISE!” and swiftly turned on his stilt which stung slightly less than his belly and continued his wide-gaited sprint through the parking lot and in the direction of home, as soon as he got his bearings at the roadside.

Within sight of his house, there was a considerable drop from a ledge. Looking both ways, it was another lengthy detour to lower ground. His heart was still pounding. His stilts and legs and everything hurt. His vision had started to split, and he ached to curl up in bed in his own sheets and a fresh change of clothes. And hug his mother and father and girlfriend and even bratty younger brother who certainly hadn’t meant to get him into any of this. He’d come through the door, laugh, and joke “Well, that trip took much longer than I thought!”

Shivering at the night breeze, he glanced behind him and felt another chilling pulse. He had to get home, he had to get inside, get away from Fazbear and his goons and any of them he’d surely sent to hunt him down and drag him back to that kids’ mechanical puppet show prison.

Glancing down at his feet, he wiggled his toes, the wet grass feeling somewhat soothing on his stilts. He’d seen them slide up before, so either they’d hold as they had, or slide up and make it even easier to run up to the front door. For the moment he felt relieved, almost happy – though not as happy as being back inside his nice warm, safe house would be.

With a breath, he stood as close to the edge as low as possible and took the jump onto the street below. As he struck the road, the force was enough to jam the bottom section of the stilts back up into his feet and legs at a slight angle – and pinch and shave his Achilles Tendons like deli beef. The pain was about as much as splashing into a shin-high bucket of boiling oil. His eyes nearly popped, jaw dropping, and he managed to curtail a holler “OH –!” before wincing hard and screaming into his arm, even biting it to withstand the pain. “MMMMMMMMMMPH!” The same arm he’d smacked against the storage room wall in his latest pre-escape tumble.

Vision blurry from heavily teared eyes, he clutched at a signpost to steady himself, beginning to feel lightheaded. Legs trembling, he grunted with each slow but determined step toward the house. _I have to get home…I PROMISED EVERYONE…!_

Hearing a sort of cluttered thump just beyond the front door, as if someone had dropped off an armful of packages on the front step. Pops happened to be passing by, pausing and heading for it – though his youngest and the chimp beat him to it by a leap, a skid, and a combined tug at the knob.

All three gasped, jumping with wide eyes as they spied the second eldest collapsed halfway onto the step. Spritle made another videogame-style jump, landing beside his older brother and shaking him by the left shoulder. “Speed! Speedie, hey! Are you OK? Wake up, wake up!”

“Speak to me, son!” his father begged, sinking to his knees and gently putting a palm down at the top of his back, rubbing down. With a twitch, he drew back, uttering a “Hmm?!” and quickly yanked down the back of the chestnut-haired one’s collar.

There, just below his shoulder blades, was a fairly large, strange sort of scar. As if someone had sliced him open for an impromptu surgery, sewed it back up with haste, and left the wound to heal somewhat unevenly.

“Aah! What the heck is that?! What did they do to Speed?" the youngest cried.

"I don't know but it looks bad!" the elder Racer noted, returning his eyes to the chestnut-haired one "Where've you been this time?" and spying the bite mark on his arm as well, lifted his head with a moustache-widening scowl. "WHO HURT MY SON THIS TIME?!”

Just then, Sparky and Trixie pulled up in the Mach Five. Shrieking at seeing the bloodied footprint trail leading to her collapsed boyfriend, the brunette dove out of the car and rushed to his side, staring in confused horror at the stilt holes and tugging his pant cuff back to see the severe bruising that was slowly trickling out onto the walkway.

“HOLY HECK, we GOTTA get Speed to a hospital ASAP!” the mechanic exclaimed, noticing the gruesome sight.

His mother was already on the phone, stretching the receiver cord and power cord to their absolute limits as she stood by the door. “YES! My son just showed back up at the house and he’s BLEEDING and badly hurt! PLEASE send an ambulance RIGHT AWAY!” Dropping the phone, she sank to a kneel, combing her fingers gently through her second eldest’s hair, petting his cheek with her knuckles and rubbing his arm and shoulder. “You’re going to be all right, Speed. Hang in there, sweetheart. We’re going to get you help, they’re coming as soon as they can…”

Grunting and opening his eyes to a squint, forcing himself to stay conscious though unconsciousness tugged on him like a ten-ton weight, he struggled to speak “N-No…wait…you…y-you’ve got to…help…e-…e-…” finally yielding, eyes shutting and letting his mind slip again, pain fading with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ≧∀≦)ﾉ This chap especially dedicated to somebody I can truly call my 'SR bestie'. An amazing person who has inspired me to write literally _everything_ I've put on here _and_ to put it up in the first place. She's simply amazing and with all the words in all the languages and conlangs on Earth I couldn't thank her enough just for being someone I can talk about SR with for months on end but always saying such super nice helpful sweet things to keep me going and keep my mind racing with ideas to the ends of the Earth. LOL ♡❤♡❤♡


	5. Chapter 5

The wail of the siren mushroomed in the second eldest Racer’s head as he awoke again, seeing the ceiling of the Cadillac emergency vehicle, feeling the rumble of the wheels and spying the scenery rushing by through the windows.

He saw the faces of his mother and girlfriend as they leaned forward, hands on his arm and shoulder again. “He’s awake! Oh, Speed… Just hold on, all right?” the latter said, leaning in for a kiss to his cheek.

Looking down at himself, he saw his legs wrapped up and splinted, his feet in blood-spattered gauze. With a low chuckling snort, he could only imagine the scenarios going through the medics’ heads not knowing about his new endoskeleton. With a twitch and a flinch, remembering his promise, he lifted his head, opening his mouth “Listen, you’ve got to –!” and was gently pushed back down by the two ladies plus a paramedic.

“Don’t try to talk right now, just relax. You’re in good hands, okay?” the ambulance staff member insisted. 

His mother resumed petting his hair and gave him a smooch to the forehead Likely out of reinforced instinct; she said “Listen to the doctor, son. He knows what he’s doing,” and clutched his hand, petting it.

“But it’s im –!” the chesnut-haired one continued to protest, then getting a full liplock smooch from the brunette. Eyes briefly wide, he snorted out a sigh, uttering an “Mmm…” as he savored the kiss. While Janet was beautiful, he only had a heart for Trixie. And how he’d missed her – especially with cold, unfeeling mechanized brushes whirling where they didn’t belong. He felt warm now, maybe even a little too warm, but didn’t care. Her presence spread through him, finally calming him – even the nagging memory of his trapped friends, for the moment. He could tell them when everything was said and done and he was lying in recovery in a nice clean hospital bed, he supposed.  
___

It was a busy day at that particular hospital and ER, as it turned out. His family hovered, though filed into a line to squeeze past other gurneys and ill and injured folk along the hallway. Speed lifted his head as they fell back – then jumped as he swore he glimpsed a staff member staring directly at him with a maniacal grin from the end of the hall. With a blink, however, the figure was gone, and his gurney rounded a turn.

“Ohh…” he uttered out of habit.

His mother, closest to him, leaned forward again. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Are you in pain?”

“Well, yes, but I –” he began, and flinched with a grunt as another staff member interrupted like clockwork, opening one eye and glancing up over his shoulder.

“We’re almost to your room, we can give you some more pain medicine once you’re all tucked in, okay?” she bid calmly.

“Okay,” the chestnut-haired one relented with a sigh. Then he swore he heard a higher-pitched growl, and saw a scowling Spritle pop up on the left rail in his periphery.

“Speed NEEDS to tell you all something and you NEED to LET HIM TALK!” the small boy snapped. “Even I get told to shush ALL THE TIME and it’s ticking ME off!” Chim-Chim nodded vigorously with an eyeroll.

As the nurses lifted the second eldest Racer onto the bed, he heard his father’s voice admit “You’re right, Spritle. We’ve just been so worried about him – but Speed, if there’s something you need to say, please, tell us! We’ll listen, won’t we?”

Everyone gave a vocal nod, turning their attention to the older boy, who smiled with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Spritle.”

“Here, hon, take these, they should help with any other pain you’re feeling,” the female nurse bid quickly, placing a couple pills and a small cup of water into his hands.

He gripped them with a “Thanks, and I will – but I’ve been trying to tell you, the place I escaped from, it’s…well, I guess they call it…er, Speedster Raceway’s Pizza now…and it’s run by a Mr. Fazbear. He’s the one who kidnapped me – AND three others. Snake Oiler and…John Surtees and…Janet Guthrie!”

And promptly got blinked and brow-raised at.

“Well, that’s…” Pops began with a headscratch, though trailed off.

“Fazbear?” the incoming doctor echoed, “You mean the old pizza place in town? That’s been closed for months.”

“Huh?” Speed said.

“Plus, nobody named Fazbear there – except maybe the mascot,” another chimed.

“Oh…” _Darnit! That’s right, I guess I called him that since that’s what he said – but I DON’T know his real name! And he’s been letting us call him that, probably because he knew we’d sound crazy if we tried telling anybody. No, no!_

“Where is this other place though? We’ll look it up and give them a call,” a nurse said firmly.

“Oh, thank you! And send the police?”  
“Mm, sure. Especially if things sound suspicious.”  
“THANK YOU. Thank you so much…”  
“No problem, hon. You rest up now.”

“I will,” the second eldest Racer echoed, smiling, glancing down at the pain pills. _And now I can, knowing they’ll track that crazy kook down and save everybody._ Popping them on his tongue, he gulped down the water before lying back on the fluffed pillows and letting his eyes close.  
___

Trixie was petting his arm when he opened his eyes next, smiling down at him with another, shorter lip kiss. “Did you sleep okay, Speed?” she asked quietly.

“Mm,” he said, nodding, slowly grinning wide, “But what I woke up to is better than any dream though.”

“Ohhhh, you…” the brunette mused with a giggle, leaning down to nuzzle and kiss him again. “I was so worried,” she said, their foreheads still touching, “I started to think I’d never see you again and I felt so bad about all those times I blamed you for missing our dates but it was just because you got kidnapped by some horrible person again.”

Her boyfriend couldn’t help a laugh, despite his stomach still hurting inside and out a little. “I...I guess that happens a lot, huh?” he said, still grinning despite himself. “Next time I’ll make sure to leave you a note, ‘Sorry, we’ll have to do dinner tomorrow. Got myself kidnapped again. Love you. P.S. Bring your disguise, it’ll be fun.’”

There was a second of silence before both broke out into hearty bellylaughs – though he winced, grunting and reflexively clutching his stomach.

“Ow…owow…nngh.”

Sliding her hand up to gently but firmly rub it, Trixie smiled, sighing. “I love you so much, Speed. You just…you go through so much, but you take everything so well. You’re so strong but so sweet and I just love that.”

“Same to you, y’know,” he said, reaching up slowly to run his fingers through her curls and gently rub her soft cheek. “You get caught up and tied up in so much stuff with me and it is almost just like a date in an action thriller movie.”

“Hmhmhm, mm-hm…” She closed her eyes. “Remember how we met?”

“Do I ever…” he said, closing his again too. This memory glowed brightly, casting away all the captive despair and torture of the last few weeks. “Excuse me, Miss…” he recited.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Racer’s son. Hi, my name’s Trixie, what’s yours?” she added likewise, eyes locking with his as both opened them.

“Speed.”  
“Oh, what a neat name! You’re here about the helicopter, right?”  
“Yes, is Mr. Sherborne in today?”  
“Haha! Well, Mr. Sherborne is my father, so yes, he’s here. I’ll go tell him right now.”  
“Well, there’s no rush, really…”  
“Oh?”  
“Sure. So…do you like racing?”  
“I LOVE racing!”  
“Ohh, really?”  
“Mmhm!”

Their budding romantic flashback was cut short by a nurse entering. “Speed?”

“Oh, yes?” he said, turning.

“I’m sorry, hon, but we’ve called everywhere within a hundred miles and looked through every phone-book and directory we could find, but there’s no place with that name you mentioned. And the man who ran Fazbear’s Diner, Dave Miller, well, there’s hardly any records of him, let alone any contacts. I’m so sorry.”

“No…no, no, there’s GOT to be!” the chestnut-haired one said, sitting up. “I escaped from that place, I KNOW it exists!”

She shook her head slowly, repeating “I’m so sorry, Speed. We tried, we really did.” With a thoughtful pause, she asked “Do you remember where it was? How far away?”

The previous night had become a blur, of course, but the chestnut-haired one closed his eyes, painfully pushing aside first date memories to grab at the haze of his run home. “Well…uh…it was about…five or…ten miles north-northwest…the shopping plaza by the highway…the building, it…it had a big neon sign on it and…i-it was at the far end, toward the back road…”

Feeling someone slide arms around him, he twitched, looking up. He didn’t recognize the face, but suddenly felt the same dread he had seeing the strange man in the hall earlier. This one slid him onto another gurney, wheeling him out the door with a bid of “Come on, now, we’ve gotta get you to surgery and get those metal legs out of you. Don’t worry, it’ll be nice and quick and painless.”

“Wait, surgery! Nobody said anything about surgery!” Trixie piped up, dashing out of the room after him, tailing them.

 _How does he know what they are?!_ “Wait, how do you know that?” Speed asked, looking up at the staff member’s scraggly chin.

“X-Rays, of course. Now you just relax…” he swiftly put a mask full of methoxyflurane over the boy’s mouth.

“But I didn’t have any – …X…rays…done…yet…” the second eldest Racer said, struggling to speak as the anesthesia took hold. He turned his head, trying to shout – though it came out muffled and slow. “TRI...xxxiiiieee…!”

“SPEED!” Sherborne screamed, arm out, now fully running after the very suspicious male nurse absconding with her injured boyfriend.

At that moment, the rest of the family that had gone off to eat now returned to see the chase beginning, quickly following with additional shouts.

“TRIXIE, WAIT!”  
“SPEED!”  
“NO, MY BOY!”  
“YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Speed swore he heard the man above him snort and chuckle derisively. He watched the hallway and people in it blur by, feeling like he had shortly after he’d reached the front step, fighting to keep from falling fast unconscious once more. He could hear more shocked shouts and cries, and the bangs and crashes of the tables and trays and other gurneys his newest kidnapper shoved in his wake to slow and stop their pursuers.

Sprinting out a set of back doors, the man pushed the barely conscious boy into the back of what looked like a small delivery truck, doors slamming shut as the gurney slammed into the cab-side corner – slamming backward again as the vehicle peeled out of its parking spot, turning sharply onto the road. It was enough to finally render the second eldest Racer out cold yet again with a woozy grunt and groan.

Only a few miles out, the driver suddenly stopped the truck, throwing open the cab door, stalking around and throwing open the back doors as well. Reaching in, he pried the small boy and great ape in matching overalls out from under the gurney. “No free rides!” he stated gruffly, hoisting them up.

“HEY, PUT ME DOWN! LET MY BROTHER GO RIGHT NOW, YOU CREEP!” Spritle yelled as loud as he ever had, trying to claw and bite at the man as much as Chim-Chim was. However, it had little effect on his apparently work-hardened leathery hands and arms and grim unflinching face. 

Throttling the simian and nearly choking the child with a tight tug of his collar, he flung them away, toward the roadside ditch. They landed on the grass though didn’t slide down the bank, picking themselves up and making a mad dash for the truck again but eventually slowing to a winded stop as it lurched off again at a velocity unmatchable even by the fastest sugar-high fueled feet.

The pair were still somewhat breathless by the time Trixie touched the helicopter down to pick them up. They all kept their eyes peeled, but the only thing they found was a stopped, empty truck not fifteen miles further up the road. No sign of the driver or the chestnut-haired one, though the gurney had apparently rolled right into the ditch, toppled over, tucked sheets and abandoned bandages soaking in drain water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Trixie's last name is usually either 'Fontaine' or 'Treadwell' – from the 1993 Fred Wolf Speed Racer series and Speed Racer: The Next Generation, respectively – but...IMNSHO those both kinda suck. And I'm even usually a fan of cute/aliterative/punny names and all! And French. (And Don La Fontaine, certainly.) But... yeah, just no. (¬_¬)
> 
> So Trixie's surname is 'Sherborne'. Both because it sounds closer to 'Shimura' _and_ because Shimura (志村) translates roughly to 'Aspiration Village' and Sherborne, according to HouseofNames.com "is a toponymic surname that was originally derived from the Old English word _scir_ , meaning bright and _burna_ simply meaning stream" or in otherwords "'place at the bright or clear stream' referring to the adjacent River Yeo (in Dorset)".
> 
> And granted, Fontaine also means "someone who lived near a spring or well", Old French _fontane_ , Late Latin _fontana_ , a derivative of classical Latin _fons_. BUT SHERBORNE _STILL_ JUST _SOUNDS BETTER_ , OK? **/END OF DISCUSSION**
> 
> (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you really think you could escape? Did you really think I would LET you escape?”

Speed heard his voice, but only continued to stare out at the wall. He lay belly-down on a cot in a small office – not the night guard’s office, though it wasn’t much differently designed and hardly any bigger. There was a static TV hiss and a few other noises. Various lights from a handful of screens flashed and flickered on the wall the boy faced. His mind was simply numb, not only from the lingering Penthrox in his system but his dashed hopes and now scattered memories of Trixie and his family. Another trickle of tears joined the saliva on his cheek that he’d drooled in the full stupor he’d been in when his kidnapper had proudly carried him in and dropped him onto the camp bed.

The man they’d been calling ‘Mr. Fazbear’ continued muttering “Did you think those simpletons would be able to fix your legs? Did you cut them up on purpose?!” as he rolled up the cuffs, making a rather deft lengthy surgical incision from calf to heel on one, then the other. 

Thankfully, again, the anesthetic was still strong enough to dampen most of the pain. There was a small sound somewhere between a snap and a clink; the boy flinched, uttering several grunts as he felt the man tend to his tendons. There were several more pinches, pokes, pricks, painful pulls, and then a briefly stinging heat. His ankles, feet, and toes went numb in parts, then radiated with pins and needles. With another clink-snap and a bit more tugging, the procedure seemed to be done, the man stepping away with a fed-up sounding sigh.

“There. Now don’t move another muscle unless you want to try sewing yourself back up, you little hoodlum,” Miller griped. “And you’re lucky you need to heal, or I’d be punishing you right now for that little stunt…” Speed glanced in his direction, brows faintly angling, though didn’t even move his head. “…but make no mistake, you WILL be punished. All your little friends have.” The boy’s eyes widened, brows in convexes. “They can all hear you right now, you know. What do you have to say to them? What do you have to say for yourself, Speedster?”

Eyes hazing, tears beading and falling again, he said “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry. I tried…I really tried…” Then he tensed, eyes widening further as he heard his own voice, sounding as if it was being played back on a nearby TV.

“…well, I guess they call it…er, Speedster Raceway’s Pizza now…and it’s run by a Mr. Fazbear. He’s the one who kidnapped me – AND three others. Snake Oiler and…John Surtees and…Janet Guthrie!”

“You really did blab everything, didn’t you?” his captor’s voice asked, icily rhetorical.

 _How? How did you…?_ Speed thought.

“Well…uh…it was about…five or…ten miles north-northwest…the shopping plaza by the highway…the building, it…it had a big neon sign on it and…i-it was at the far end, toward the back road…”

“How…do you…know that?” the chestnut-haired one echoed, daring to disobey and turn his head what little he could in the man’s direction, brows angling again.

“HMHMhmhmhm…even if your feeble little brain doesn’t remember, the nodes in your endoskeleton DO. It records your voice, your thoughts… It tells me every little thing you’ve been plotting and stewing over.” He paused with a slow snort, definitely through a wide gleaming grin, though Racer couldn’t quite see it. “I TOLD you before…I have COMPLETE CONTROL over you. Did you think I was bluffing? Hmm…let me see!”

Speed’s eyes bulged, brows almost reaching his bangs. In the fresh panic those words planted, his mind was a rushing eddy, shreds of various thoughts swirling but nothing forming. Likely out of said ‘feeble brain’s desperate attempt to protect itself.

“And if Fazbusted is still using that bully of an intern, boy would I like some payback!”

With another cackling chuckle that segued into a long tsking, Dave mused “Aww, I’m sure Townsend will be SO disappointed to hear that…but I’ll let you two talk it out. When you do finally heal up, I think I’ll put you on a biweekly wash schedule.”

The chestnut-haired one stayed quite still, aside from the panicked shock still on his face, as if trying to play dead inches from the huffing breath of a large predator intent on tearing him to shreds. The man leaned over this way and that, then sinking to look him in the face – and only laughed again, loudly, sharply, a bit dryly.

“Ahh…I should take a picture of that face. So priceless… Rest up and heal up, Speedster. You’ll be back on stage soon enough.” With a rough pat to the middle of the boy’s back, Miller turned, shutting off a few of the TVs and finally exiting the room, letting the door swing audibly shut behind him.

As the emptiness of the room sank in, Racer seemed to come out of his frightened freeze, blinking and breathing more deeply. He turned his head, laying on his other jaw to ease the crick that had built in his twisted neck. His mind was still hazy, gaze sweeping aimlessly – though settled on one of the screens showing a feed of his less fortunate fellow captives; somewhere on the level of the speaker and vent, from the angle. Janet and John looked all right, though from their positions he couldn’t quite tell what the man had done to them or not.

Snake, however, seemed to be constantly cradling his jaw and covering his mouth. When he finally turned to say something to the others, Speed keened his eyes, seeing some kind of grit on his jaw and chin. As he continued to stare, he realized what had happened. And dared to access another memory, to his relief not hearing it repeated from anywhere.

_“Ohh! …eheh…guess you lost your fangs.”_

Remembering what Snake had said, he repeated it to himself now. Lips twitching, he only echoed “You…bad…horrible man…” before letting his lids relax, droop and close, letting out a long sigh and trying to drift off to more recovering sleep.  
___

_“Here, Speed! I made your favorite… I know you really wanted to win that race, but don’t feel bad. You will next time. Give me a hug, my brave sweet boy, and eat up.”_

“Mmm…” Speed mumbled, drooling for an entirely different reason, reaching for the enormous platter his mother held out to him. He’d just plucked the first treat off the top of the magazine photo-worthy stack when the office door opening yanked him halfway out of his dream. “…Huh?”

“Here,” was all the man said, tossing a bottle-necked gel packet next to the chestnut-haired one’s head. “Eat.”

“Mm…mmhm…” the boy uttered, nodding. He slid his arms out from his sides, slightly rising on his elbows, grabbing the packet and putting its mouth to his, instinctively squeezing the contents onto his tongue. It tasted like cold mucus – of both the sick-in-bed and frigid variety. Immediately, his eyes shot open; springing up and back onto his still-hurting legs, he flung the packet away, spitting and coughing. “YEUUCCH! What IS that?!”

“Your lunch,” Miller said plainly, stooping to grab it off of the floor and fling it back at him, smacking him on the cheek. “And you’d better eat if you expect to get better. And get down off of those legs!”

“Oh, right,” Speed noted, glancing down at it, quickly adding a “Yessir,” and flinching as he struggled to inhale the gel and not immediately vomit it back up. His – and the others’ – first meal as a ‘gizmo’ had been this all-too-savory unsavory mix of straight minerals and other supplements. He’d been told normal food, even liquids, “didn’t sit well with the machinery”. Setting the flattened empty packet down, still wincing from the disgusting taste, he slowly slid back down, rolling over on his side; then flopping on his back. Finding it too painful, he returned to his side, and finally resumed his prone position, burying his face in the cot to try and relieve his aching neck.

“You’re going to suffocate yourself like that,” the man said.

The chestnut-haired one uttered a muffled “That’s fine with me.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Miller said sternly, but only walked off, returning with a small cushion which he wedged under Racer’s collarbone. “There, is that comfy enough for you?”

“Mm…mmhm…”  
“Good. Now rest.”  
“I’m thirsty.”  
“Hmm? Thirsty? There was plenty of water in that pack. Everything you need.”  
“So I can’t have any water? Am I going to short-circuit myself from the inside?”  
“You’re being awfully cheeky right now.”  
“So what? You’re going to punish me anyway, you said so. What does it matter?”

With another frustrated sigh, the man walked off again, there was the faint sound of running water, and indeed he returned with a small glass, holding it at cot-level. “I suppose you do need extra hydration to heal up sooner. Here, take it.”

Speed eyed it warily; he slowly took it, pushing himself up again and gulping it down. Not the greatest either, but did wash out most of the nasty gel aftertaste. Holding it back out as he repositioned himself on the cushion, he smiled weakly, with a “Thank you very much, sir.”

His only response was a curt “Now that’s better” before he took the glass, set it on the desk, and walked out of the room again.  
___

Time seemed to both crawl and dash by, in a strange way. The next thing that disrupted his half-sleep and the quiet din of the room was Dave prodding at his feet. It didn’t tickle, but intensified the itch, making him flinch with a grunt and a groan, wiggling and curling his toes.

“Itchy, are we?” the man noted. “Good, that means you ARE healing.” He took a peek under the pant cuffs to see his much less discolored calves and ankles, then made a few more idle drags of his finger along the boy’s ankles and stilted-soles, seeming to enjoy watching him squirm, briefly baring gritted teeth.

“Nngh…could you…please scratch my feet? And my legs? Just a little?” Racer finally asked, glancing back.

“Oh, I think I’ll save that for when you’re better. Hm. Now leave them alone and get some more rest. You’ll be back on stage soon enough.” Another breeze swept up as Miller strode past and tugged open the door, and as it swung shut behind him.

Speed shut his eyes, grinding his teeth a little, again wiggling and curling his toes, willing the other nigh-unbearable sensation to cease. For a moment, he remembered being not much older than Spritle. A Saturday morning at the racetrack with Pops and Rex ruined by an insanely itchy red rash.

 _“Aaah! It won’t go away! It won’t go AWAY!”_  
_“Speed Dashiell Racer! Calm down and stop scratching! You’re only going to make it worse!”_  
_“But Mooooom…”_  
_“No buts, young man! Get back under those covers right now.”_  
_“Mmnnn…it won’t stop itching! I hate it, HATE IT!”_  
_“I know, sweetheart, I know. Let me go get some calamine lotion and I’ll put some on for you, it’ll help – but you have to leave it alone and let it work. Okay?”_  
_“Okay…”_

He tried to imagine lying on his bed in his room now, his mother gently massaging in the cool skin cream. Soon enough, the placebo effect kicked, and he sighed, able to doze off once more.  
___

Finally, the day came when Dave chuckled, bidding “If this tickles you, you’re going back into storage. Though, not before a good wash – and your punishment for running away, of course. Now don’t even try to hide it, I can read your mind, remember?”

“Mm…hm…” the chestnut-haired one acknowledged with a faint nod. Not expecting the man to ply a Wartenberg pinwheel, the tiny pins tickling his sole from ball to heel along his arch. “HAHAHAhaha! …mmmn...”

“Excellent,” Miller noted, audibly tossing the thing in a drawer. He paused, then walked around the cot with a pivot to face the boy. “Do you know how I’m going to punish you?”

Lips twitching, Racer looked up slowly and sheepishly at him, brows convex “Scratch my feet some more?” and half-flinched. “M-More cleaning?”

“Oooh, CLOSE.”

Suddenly, Speed felt something snap inside of him, sounding similar to a neck crack, somewhere between his head and his chest, eyes wide with a different but equally great sense of doom as before.

Leaning close, his captor practically whispered “Do you know what they call it when the body ceases to breathe automatically? The scientific name is Congenital Central Hypoventilation Syndrome or CCHS for short – but otherwise, it’s known as ‘Ondine’s Curse’. From a grim old German fairytale, about a young nymph named Ondine who fell in love with a mortal man. When he cheated on her, as men do, she threw a fit and cursed him so that his body would not breathe on its own. One day he forgot, fell asleep, and of course, died.”

Racer drew in a gasp, and indeed felt no lurching in his chest as he held it. When his vision began to fade at the edges, he gave his head a shake, and exhaled, quickly inhaling. He tried to keep his focus on breathing in as much of a normal rhythm as he could. 

“I’ll set it for an hour, that should be long enough this time, mm?” Dave strode past him with a rather satisfied laugh and a cruel echo of the otherwise innocuous phrase he’d heard many times before. “Remember to breathe…!”

The door shut, and the boy’s mind began to whirl again, shreds of thoughts like debris in a hurricane. His heart pounded faster and faster in his throat and ears. _In-out, in-out, in-out…_ he coaxed himself. _Just breathe, just breathe…_ Taking a slightly longer, larger breath to give himself a few extra seconds to think, his eyes darted as he reasoned _Wait, an hour is sixty minutes. A minute is sixty seconds._ Another long, calm-as-he-could-be exhale and likewise inhale. _If each breath in and out takes about a second, two seconds for a full breath_ … Exhale, inhale. _Then that’s thirty breaths a minute. Thirty times sixty is_ … Breath, breath. _Eighteen-hundred. I just have to take eighteen-hundred breaths and he should be back._ Pause for more of said breath. _And since he’s already gone that should definitely be enough! Okay…_ Another breath in and out. _Here goes!_

His brain had first gone to counting sheep of all things, like little puffy oxygen clouds, but when he felt sleep’s tug, he gave his head another quick shake, and instead began to imagine Trixie and him sharing kisses. She would kiss him, a wonderful inhale, and he would kiss her back, and exhale.

_“Did you sleep okay, Speed?”  
“Mm...But what I woke up to is better than any dream though.”_

In another spare few seconds, he thought about how most machines people had surgery to insert, pacemakers and such, were only to help the body keep itself alive. Yet, somehow, this giant complex machine inside him was now actively preventing his body from helping keep itself alive. Beyond his own conscious effort. So incredibly strange and sobering.

It was more of a relief than ever to hear the door’s opening click on his 1793rd breath, another inhale as it happened. Looking up, he couldn’t help exhaling with a tired smile.

“Clever boy,” Miller mused. 

Hearing that same internal crick-like click, and feeling his chest’s autonomous tugs to keep his lungs going of their own accord again, Speed immediately let his head fall to the cot and practically threw himself at the sleep he’d fought so hard to resist for the past hour.  
___

Grunting, groaning, and yawning widely again, the chestnut-haired one opened his eyes – twitching with a cold pulse that prickled numbly as his eyes locked with Townsend’s, the other boy’s brows angled though his grin was just about ear-to-ear.

“G’morning, ya dumb gizmo,” he bid, disconcertingly calmly. Then his grin faded to a frown as he turned his head, putting the back of his hand to his forehead and adding dramatically “So you think I’m a bully? I’m hurt!” turning to face him again, arm lowering “But not as much as when you threw me in that stupid storage closet!”

With a gulp, Speed began with a flinch, brows convex “Look, I – I didn’t mean to hurt you, I –!”

“No, I guess you didn’t. You coulda tossed me right on that broken glass, but you chucked me into the wall instead,” the intern said, glancing aside again. “So all you really did was shock me and make me scream like a little girl.”

“Well, I – that – you – I mean –“

“So that’s all I’m gonna do to you,” the other boy continued, broad grin slowly resuming, "Shock you and make you scream like a little girl. And that’ll be pretty fun – definitely worth sticking around this creepy place all night for nada an hour!”

“ I – I – I –!” was all Racer could stutter, wincing with another sheepish anticipatory grin.

“Press the red button on the bottom of the control panel to prep the Comber, Face-Scrubber, and Toothbrusher,” came the announcing voice as the machinery came to a whir-clunk of a hover above the chestnut-haired one, already shaking his head and whimper-giggling.

“Shut up, Handy! I’m doing this my way…” Townsend declared, stepping up to the panel and mashing all the colored buttons and all but a few adjacent white buttons at once. Down came the Scrubbers, Face, Pit-Sweat, Belly, Undercarriage, and Feet, followed by the slow rise of the dreaded Stilt Polisher.

“NO! NAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! GEHET IHIT HAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAAAP! STOP! STAAAAHAHAA! YAIIIEHEHE!” Speed cachinnated, already pounding his head back on the table a few times with a few flails before pinning it there. His jaw buttons hadn’t been clicked, but it certainly looked it as wide as they were while stomach pounded out more helpless guffaws. “AAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEHEHEEEHEASE NOHOHOHOHOOO!” _I’ll take another hour of Ondine’s Curse, but not this! Not again! NOT AGAIN!_

One small saving grace seemed to be that the Undercarriage Scrubber had jammed – though still got him squealing as the long-extended brushes swept steadily under his backside and up and down his thigh creases.

“EEHEHEHEEE! GAHAHAAA NO! NAHAHAHA! HAHAAHAHAAA!”

“You have set the Pit-Sweat Scrubber for 500 minutes. ... You have set the Belly Scrubber for 555 minutes. …You have set the Foot Scrubber to 900 minutes. …You have set the Stilt Polisher to 999 minutes. … For your cooperation and patience, please enjoy a complimentary 24 oz. Speedster Raceway Enterprises brand coffee –  
please enjoy a complimentary 24 oz. Speedster Raceway Enterprises brand coffee – a complimentary 24 oz. Speedster Raceway Enterprises brand coffee – brand coffee – brand coffee – coffee – coffee – coffffeeee – covfefe –!”

“Oooh, free coffee jackpot!” the intern exclaimed, rubbing his hands together as about eight full piping hot cups popped up in rapid succession, also a side effect of his overloading the ma-clean-ery. Finishing gulping and slurping down the first one, he leaned over the shrilly squeaking silently laughing chestnut-haired one, saying casually “Hey, gotta make a pitstop. I’ll be back in…eh, whenever. Have fun, stupid goofy gizmo!” and turning, happily sashaying through the hall door and kicking it shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Speed Dash Racer. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Speed D. Racer, even.
> 
> ***rants endlessly about terrible lame cheesy name, then insists on terrible lame cheesy name***
> 
> ┬──┬◡ﾉ(° -°ﾉ)


	7. Chapter 7

“Hm…hm…hm…!” Breathe, giggle; breathe, giggle; breathe giggle.

“Oh, Speed, there you are!” Janet said, crawling over at seeing the chestnut-haired one join them in the usual flop-roll-and-wriggle, yet another flushed grin on his face. “Gosh, I don’t know HOW you survive all those washes...I feel worn out just waking up from one!”

“Mehe neheitheher!” Racer squeaked.

With a chuckling snort, Guthrie said “You’re a sight for sore eyes, y’know. And a sound for sore ears, too.”

“Fuzzbuster musta tightened up the vents ‘coz I haven’t heard him much at all, either,” Snake mused, pausing to watch him once more, adding with a sharper snort “You sound like a kitten!”

“Ihit…juhust…tihickles to breheathe…!” Speed explained, still flinching, still grinning, mouth corners twitching as he crawled to his usual post – not unlike a newborn kitten mewing squeakily as it crawled around for a narrated TV documentary. As he sat against the wall with a shiver, he turned, trying to muffle his laughter as he spoke to the wavy-brown-haired one. “Snahake…I’m – ahahe’m soho…sohorry about whahat happened. Whahat hehe did to youhou…”

“Thanks, Princess Giggles,” Oiler noted, then darted a hand toward his side.

“Snahahake!” Racer yelped out of habit, then winced, eyes opening ceiling-ward with an “OWWwww!” as the Car Acrobat dug his nails in, pinching hard. This did, however, dispel most of the lingering tingles. Rubbing his side, he grunted with a “Thanks, Snake…”

“No problem,” Oiler said plainly, arms folded. “‘S much as I could listen to you mewly-mew teehee for quite a while, it…gets annoying pretty fast. So…there. Now you won’t be double-loopy next time you go down for a scrub-up.”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Speed?” The chestnut-haired one turned, seeing Janet.

“Oh, hmm?” he uttered, turning to face her.

“Are you all right? I heard about what that man did, how he almost suffocated you. I just…” trailing off, she glanced away, then up at Surtees still snoozing in the far corner.

“Oh, that, huh? Well, I mean, he has his intern nearly suffocate me at the end of every week anyway, so it was no big deal,” he said with a dismissive wave of his arm.

“Did it hurt, though?” she pressed.

His gaze fell as his hand half-wittingly went to his calf, sliding to his ankle and rubbing. “A lot of things hurt…but…I’m still here. Still alive and all right, that is.” Looking up, he smiled. “Please don’t worry about me.”

She smiled a little wider, looking a little more relieved. “We do though, but…I’m glad to hear it, Speed. You’re still brave for what you did. I’m just sorry they caught you again.” Flinching, she gave her head a clearing shake with a sigh, looking into his eyes again. “Hey, lie down for a minute, okay?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Turn around, lie on your stomach.”  
“O-Okay…”  
“If you don’t mind?”

He snorted softly “For you, not at all…” turning and sliding down, chin on folded arms. He tensed for a moment, then let out a longer sigh and a more contented groan, eyes closing. “Ohhhh, a BACKRUB! Mmm…how did you know my other-other-other-other-OTHER weakness? Hmhmhm…!”

She chuckled, continuing to gently but firmly press her hands from his waist to shoulders, lightening her pressure around his endoskeleton scar, smiling broadly. “Wait a minute,” she asked, only slightly coy, “so if tickling is your weakness –” and couldn’t help sneaking a finger wiggle under his belly; and though he laughed again, barely moved “– and backrubs are your, er…’other-other-other-other-OTHER’ weakness, then what’re your other, other-other, and other-other-other weaknesses?”

“Creampuffs,” he declared proudly, though still blushed a little. “And hot dogs…and really good jazz…and some pop songs, honestly.”

“Ohh,” Guthrie mused, not fully intending to echo him, though some of them had all rubbed off on each other in their literal close time together. “I always loved those. My mom would make them for special occasions, sometimes freeze them, sometimes drizzle them with a little chocolate…”

“Mmmmm…my Mom always made them too! Mostly for me,” he said, laughing again, finally wrapped in another happy glowing memory. “She’d never put them in the freezer, but always dust them with a little sugar, and leave them out for me. Especially if I did well in school or had a really bad day. She’d make a whole tray full and stack them all up. It looked like a huge delicious pyramid when I was really little. I’d pull up a chair and just stuff my face, just like Spritle and Chim-Chim do. Sometimes Rex would try to steal some – but I’d always share anyway. Well, unless they were ‘really bad day’ creampuffs. Then I’d try to eat them all before he came sneaking around.”

Janet chuckled. “I was an only child, so I never had any siblings sneaking around trying to steal my things. Sometimes my friends at school did – but not very often.”

“Lucky!” Racer said, grunting and groaning again as she managed to fully iron out another kink in his back; yawning and laying on his right cheek, opening his eyes halfway and peacefully gazing at the door.

“We always had lots of hot dogs in the summer,” Guthrie said, gaze also hazing door-ward. “I’d always sit outside on the deck watching Dad grill them, just enjoying the sun and the breeze and that wonderful smell…”

“Mmm…I know I’d eaten hot dogs before, at home, at school…but the first time Pops took Rex and I to a racetrack, we were waiting for things to start, so we got lunch…and I got a big juicy hotdog with a perfectly soft, slightly crispy bun and just the right amount of mustard… I remember trying to wait for the race to start but I was really hungry, so I started eating it and it was SO good. It smelled so delicious and tasted so delicious, and from then on they always reminded me of sitting and watching races out in the open with my dad and big brother…hearing all the sounds of the cars and the announcers…” he glanced back, “…and the sun and the breeze…”

“That sounds like the best first time at the races ever,” the female driver said, echoing “Lucky!”

Stomach croaking like a whole chorus of frogs, Snake clutched it, softly glaring at the pair and muttering “Could you two not talk about actual food that isn’t the snot bags we gotta suck up around here? I’m already starving – and ‘coz of Speed getting out, I haven’t even had that gunk in a week-and-a-half!”

“Sorry, Snake,” Janet bid quietly, glancing at him over her shoulder. Leaning down closer to her massagee, she added in a whisper “It’s actually because of his smart mouth. And that’s also why Faz pulled his teeth.”

“Owch!” Speed uttered with an empathetic half-flinch, turning his head. “What did he do to you and John, though?”

“Oh, just hit us a few times,” Guthrie said, one hand briefly going to her cheek before she snuck another glance at John and the yellowed bruise on his temple. “Very hard. But we were both so distraught seeing him rip the poor kid’s teeth out, he considered that part of our punishment too.”

“Mmn…that’s just not right. None of this is,” Racer said with a small growl – immediately relaxing with a near purr as she made another tension relieving sweep. “Well, except what you’re doing, of course…”

“I’m so glad to see you happy and comfy, Speed,” the female driver said.

“Same. If you’d like a massage when you’re done, too, just let me know. I can’t promise I’ll be as good as you, but I can try!”  
“Hm, your hands are so excellent on the wheel; I bet you give good massages.”  
"Well, my parents always said so. I’d sometimes give my mom’s neck a squeeze or five when she got really bad headaches. Pops would always lie down and either have me walk on his back or punch it sometimes, not too hard, of course.”  
“Aww, that is so sweet of you. You’re just as sweet and cute as a chocolate-covered creampuff!”

“Ah, hey!” he piped up, turning to feign a pout, “I’m no softie like that! C’mon now…” and instantly got a series of ticklish back pokes for his protest, making him genuinely giggle again. “Hehehehehe! Okay, OKAY! So maybe I am…hmm…”

“What’s your favorite jazz or pop song?” Janet prodded “I really love Tommy Edwards…” and began humming, swaying to the beat in her head, and crooning “ _Many a teeear…has to fall…but it’s aaall…iiin the game…Aaall in the wonderful game…that we knooow…as looove_ …”

“Mm, mmhm, I like that song a lot, too! Hmhm, how about the Pops that isn’t mine? You know, Satchmo!” the chestnut-haired one joked, also humming an intro that was ironically scat-sung anyhow. “ _Life! …is so peculiaaar…you get so WET in the rain_...”

Janet drew in a quiet gasp, grinning, and quickly matching the beat he’d begun bobbing his head to. “ _You get so waaarm in the SUNSHINE_ …” she joined in.

The pair shared a particularly silly grin as they harmonized. “ _It doesn’t pay to complaiiin_!”

“Nothin’ pays around here!” Oiler heckled again, griping “Can you guys save the singin’ for the kiddie stage, huh? I’m tryin’ to nap over here.”

Still in the jazz swing, Speed and Guthrie continued. “ _When I get up each morning, there’s nothing to breathe but air_ …” the former sang, cheerfully despite his recent brush with asphyxiation.

“ _And when I look in the mirror, there’s nothing to comb but hair_!” the latter went on, giving hers a bit of a flip.

“ _And when I sit down to breakfast, there’s nothing to eat but FOOD_ …”

Snake thrashed, stamping his stilts on the floor – finally waking Surtees with a start – with a rigid point of arm and finger. “SPEED, I swear to Green Mamba, I’m gonna come over there an’ put you BACK in that gigglefit you came in with!”

“SORRY, Snake!” the chestnut-haired one said, shoulders rising – though Janet gave them a reassuring methodic squeeze, turning.

“Just close your eyes and drift off to the music, Snake. You can’t be hungry or eat if you’re snoozing, so relax,” she coaxed.

He glared at her, hissing with a whistle through his missing canines, folding his arms and fidgeting and grumbling until he found a more comfortable lean, closing his eyes with a last snort and mumbled gripe.

Both watching until the wavy-brown-haired one seemed distracted and calmed, the pair shared a smirking glance and a snorting snicker, lowering their voices to a whisper though they finished the stanza “ _Life is so peculiar but you can’t stay home and brood_!”

Blinking and taking in the scene, John chuckled softly, shook his head, adjusted his own position, mumbled something about “Americans…” and drifted back off as well soon enough.  
___

“Hey, kids! Look what I found!” Speedster called out, music mushrooming as the latest school-age lunch rush gathered around the stage. Their eyes were drawn to the shiny logo-emblazoned coin in his non-mic hand that he now hoisted as he sang.

“ _A token, a token, a shiny golden token…it’s just a little lame, only worth one game… but if you spend plenty of them, you’ll have yourself a ticket_!”

“ _A ticket, a ticket,_ ” Snake sang, “ _a Raceway winning ticket…won’t get you nothin’ much, no candy, toys, and such …but if you win enough of them, you’ll have yourself a prize_!”

“ _A prize, a prize, a take-home special prize_!” Janet sang, “ _A plush or basketball, any goodie off the wall…if you save twenty of them, you’ll have yourself a meal_!”

“Noo!” the boy racers chided her.

“ _If you save fifty of them, you’ll have yourself a meal_!” she corrected musically.

Another “Noo!” and some laughs.

“Oh, right – _if you save a hundred, then, you’ll have yourself a meal_!”

“Now you’ve got it!” Raceway cheered.

“Such a ditz…” Oiler jabbed.

“ _A meal, a meal, a delicious trackside meal_ ,” John sang, his proud pedigreed British larynx piping a bit of theatrical vibrato into the ridiculous stanza, “ _Combo with large drink and fries, onion rings, or other sides! And when you order five of them, you’ll have yourself a voucher_!”

“ _A voucher, a voucher, big shiny Raceway voucher_!” the star attraction sang, “ _Will get you in and out all day, or a discount when your parents pay – and if you save enough of them, a free gift on your birthday_! Yeah!”

The kids whooped and hollered, cheered and clapped, bouncing and clamoring back to their aforementioned parents begging for money for tokens, and combo meals, and SRP party plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs that Speed and Janet sing:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvCohsoW0B8  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDMMeDOj2wc
> 
> Original 'Spend your parents' money here!' song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4TC0-5Zs9g
> 
> ヾ（〃＾∇＾）ﾉ♪


	8. Chapter 8

“ _One of sixteeeen vestal virgiiins…who were leeeaviiing for the coooast…and althoooooough my eeeyes were ooopeeeeeen…they might juuust as weeell been clooosed_ …” Guthrie sang quietly to Speed as she rubbed his back again – then felt him twitch as he began to softly moan and rather dramatically feign a slumping leftward faint.

Giving a quick smirk, the female driver quickly caught up, playing along. “Oh, oh no! I accidentally hit on all your weaknesses again, I’m so sorry! Speed, Speeeed!” she cried, scooping him up to a frontward cradle. He was visibly trying not to grin himself, arms thrown up, bent, his head turned, right hand hanging limply on his jaw. “Speak to me, how are you feeling?”

“Weak…very weak…” he sputtered, sneaking a peek at her with a half-opened right eye before shutting it again. “You got me good…!”

“Oh, nono, what can I do?” she asked.

“Come closer…” he said. She nodded, leaning nearer.  
“Yes?”

“Closer…closer….” he echoed, barely audible, with a soft choking sound.

“Uh-huh?” she said, her ear inches from his mouth.

Now he let himself grin, yanking his arms down, and vigorously tickling her ribs and sides, with a snicker and a tease of “Tickletickletickle!”

Her initial shriek had both the others opening their eyes, though they snorted, shook their heads, and resumed their naps – John with a sleepy chuckle, Snake with a grumble.

“AHAhahaha! SPEEHEEHEED! HahaHAHA!” she giggled, wriggling a little extra and doing a dramatic collapse of her own into his arms when he finally slowed and stopped, her head on his shoulder.

“Ohh! Heheh…Janet, are you all right?” he asked, half-genuine, with a few blinks, brows convex.

“Mm…maybe…” she said with that same soap opera faintness. He snorted softly with a flinching smirk.

“What can I do?” he asked, giving her back a gentle pat, and whispering “Are you SURE YOU don’t want a massage?”

“Hmm…that sounds nice – but right now, why don’t we go gang up on the ‘old man’, mm?” she whispered back.

“Ohhhhh,” the chestnut-haired one said, glancing over at Surtees, then slowly turning his head over his shoulder. Their faces were in similar smug grins as they looked at him. “Sounds like a great plan!”

Soon the two had scampered over, sitting on both sides of John, Racer making another lunge with wiggle-raking fingers to the ribs while Guthrie grabbed his knees, squeezing them. Their elder awoke with a start, shaking with chuckles, not struggling too wildly though.

“Wha – whaHAHAhaha! WhaHAhat ahaHAre you two doHOHOing?! BaHAHA! Stahahap! STAHAP! HAHAhahahaha!” he exclaimed, leaning his head back briefly against the wall.

“Hmhmhm, oh, hmm, is this third gear or fourth?” Janet joked, moving his right knee left to right a bit, sliding her fingers under it, and squeezing out another slightly higher-pitched chortle.

“Heheh! I dunno, lemme see…” Speed offered, smirking wide as he grabbed it, giving it more squeezes and finger-under-wiggles, sliding it back and forwards gently. “Ah, definitely fourth! I’d know that sound anywhere. Hmhmhm!”

“YohouHOU Yankheehe simpleton! Thahat it clearly fiHIhifth!” Surtees asserted with a half-flinch, a genuine grin mixed in with his tickled one.

“Oh? It is? Well, sounds like you’re underperforming a bit then…” the chestnut-haired one said matter-of-factly, moments before both he and Guthrie leaned closer to dig fingers under his arms and squeeze his sides. “OK, there, that sounds more like it.”

The three of them were laughing almost equally as Racer and Guthrie slowed and withdrew, sitting against the smaller far wall. With a sigh, John mused “Reminds me of nights home with Patricia…and a few less violent drunken evenings with the Grand Prix teams.”

Hearing another snort and muttering, the three now looked across at the Car Acrobat, sitting alone on the doorside wall in a tight, tense hunch. Now the three of them shared a gleaming, plotting grin.

Oiler twitched, looking over as he heard his rival call out “Okay, Snake! Your turn!”

“My turn for what? The Idiot Loop?” he quipped per usual, turning – and twitched again, leaning back a little. “I don’t have the faintest idea why you goofs are all starin’ at me like that!”

“We’ve all been tickled, Snake,” Speed explained, pausing to quickly add with drooped lids and brows “Well, I’ve been tickled enough for a stadium full of people – but that’s between Townsend, me, and that Cleaning Machine.” Clearing his throat, he went on, reiterating, “So now it’s your turn!” with a grin, chuckling as he sat forward, wiggling his fingers.

Snake lowered his tightly folded arms, raising a brow before also donning a very much fed-up look as if the chestnut-haired one had just recited an entire kids’ jokebook full of knock-knocks; then lowered his head with a smirk. “Hmph! Well, hate to burst your trophy win blimp but unlike you, I’m not ticklish.”

“Well, apparently, NOBODY’S as ticklish as me,” Racer noted, now with a rather proud smile, “But everybody’s got SOME kind of tickle spot – even you!”

“Well, too bad, ‘coz you won’t find it!” the wavy-brown-haired one snapped, turning his head away. There was a second or two of silence before he twitched violently, rapidly blinking unseen before turning his head and adding “Any! I mean you won’t find any! Not a one!” 

He willed himself to turn and glare at the chestnut-haired one – now seeing him look almost as menacing as their captors. “Toooo late!” he bid, brows angled over a most gleaming wise smirk of his own, and calling “Racers, to your positions!” which summoned the ‘old man’ and the female driver into ready-to-pounce crouches.

“You’re just – YAAH!” he yelped as the three lunged, Surtees grabbing his arms, Guthrie taking legs, and Speed looming over him, fingers again wiggling in a raking motion.

“I’ve got his stilts!” Janet reported, adjusting her grip on his ankles.

“I’ve got his arms! Even though snakes don’t normally have arms – but this one does and I’ve got them!” John reported jovially, clutching his wrists, with a winking acknowledgement of his silliness.

Naturally, Oiler struggled. “Gnh! Nngh! Gah! Lemme go, you idiots! You’re wastin’ your time! I ain’t ticklish!”

“Awful jumpy for somebody not ticklish,” the female driver pointed out, getting a growl and a glare. Speed laughed, ending in a hissing snicker through his nose and teeth.

“So just where ARE you ticklish, Snake?” Speed asked. “Or do you just want us to start looking and find out?”

No answer, and only a look matched by a livid scowl. More like a hissing cat at the vet’s rather than a viper about to strike, however.

“Hmm, you know…” Janet mused, leaning forward, “Snakes spend an awful lot of time on their bellies, don’t they?”

“Mmhm!” Racer acknowledged, turning to nod at her – but just catching his rival’s briefly bugged out eyes in his periphery. “Well, sounds like as good a place as any to try!” and spouted another “Tickletickle!” before setting wiggling, raking, quick-squeezing fingers to his rival’s stomach.

“GGggghhhgggg!” Oiler uttered, teeth gritted, eyes shut, head back, slowly flailing once. “You guys are…gross!” he spat, unable to help twitching when Speed switched to poking up and down with both index fingers, then going back to side squeezes, thumbs on top tracing patterns and circles. “Grr…ggh! Knock it off! I ain’t ticklish! I...ain’t…ticklish! I AIN’T…tihicklish…!”

“Ha! Who’re you trying to convince, Snake? Us or you? HMHMhm!”  
“SHUT UHUP!”  
“HehehehehHEH! Aww, Snakey has a tickly tummy!”  
“I’M GOHONNA FREAKIN’ KILL YOU SPEEHEED! GONNA RUHUN YOU RIGHT OFF A CLIFF WIHITH MY COOL CAR YOU WIHISH YOU HAHAD!”  
“HAHAhahahaHA! Hehey, who’s supposed to be making WHO laugh here?!”  
“IT WON’T BE FUNNY WHEHEN YOU’RE DEHEAD!”

Racer flinched at his shouting. “Gohosh, where’s the volume button?” he jabbed, and then spidered fingers around to the Car Acrobat’s bellybutton, digging in with a deft poke-poke-wiggle-wiggle.

“GGHGAAAA!” Snake rasped – and was suddenly ensnared by a memory of his own. A secret ritual he would rather lose arms and legs and eyes and tongue and ALL of his teeth rather than divulge.

Captain Terror put a feather in his cowl and called it “True Acrobats Only”. No one usually questioned the number stamped on a race car – but those big red digits were secret accomplishments. The Captain’s car, meanwhile, looked like a meager ‘11’ – but was actually a pair of small-ended Zs designed to function as such. After all, he made the rules around there.

His fellows had survived for as long as 15, 16, even 18, and 19 minutes. Snake wasn’t trying to beat a record – but he so desperately wanted to stamp his car with the spooky, unlucky number 13. Among joining the ranks, becoming that unstoppable badass persona that the good Captain had practically laid out for him, he wanted to power around twists and turns as intimidating Cobra Car No. 13.

But sitting in that chair in that room under that hot seat lamplight as a fledgling member, hands and feet bound, struggling to endure that infamous crowning plume without so much as a cheek puff or errant breath, let alone the giggles and guffaws his body was fighting to burst into, especially when those remidges slipped into his navel, he’d only lasted to the far end of 12 minutes. He’d forgotten if it was 48 seconds or 59, but all he knew was that he’d come up short. So close but so far. The thought still sank its tiny fangs into his brain every once and awhile.

And if he lasted that long at the hands and feather of his beloved Captain, he certainly wasn’t going to buckle to the obnoxiously annoying sickening goody-goody dummy likes of Speed Racer.

That was, until Janet knocked and drummed on his stilts with an equally annoyingly cheery bid of “Oh, lighten up, Snake!” And suddenly, the wavy-brown-haired one realized why the aforementioned goody-goody bemoaned his messing with them. John leaving his bony knees to pin his hands while the old man slid wiggling fingers under his arms was no help, either. 

“GGHPFFF – AHAHAHA!” the extra jolt from both directions closed in to snap through his resolve like a bullet to a taut rope. “NO! NonoNOhohohoho! GEHEHET OHOHOFF MEHE YOUHOU GAHAHAHEHEHEYAHA!”

Speed even bounced a little on his knees, giving his head a little wobble, snickering again with a calmer, broader smile. Getting under Snake’s skin like this was better than any trophy right now. Though, granted, perhaps he was letting a little too much of his ire and embarrassment at Townsend’s freewheeling panel button-pushing fingers seep into his revenge on his old racing rival. Looking sheepish, with a sigh, he scooched back, withdrawing – the others taking his cue.

Snake lay there for a few more seconds, eyes wide, breathing heavily with a hand on his aching pumping stomach. The minute he had the breath, he bolted to a sit and snagged Racer by the ascot – tightly, bringing their foreheads together. “Don’t you EVER do that to me again, Giggle Rat! NEXT TIME you can stay kitty-squeaking until they haul you off to another –!”

“Bath time, Speedster!” came Miller’s command from the speaker, from which they also heard him say, sounding turned away from his microphone “Snoll, go fetch our star attraction and set him up in the Washing Room for me?”

“Yessir!” came a voice followed by the slam of the door.

Oiler gave a long sigh, segueing into a chuckle that seemed to restore his usual cockiness like a Full Health potion as he immediately let go of the red cloth, crawling to his usual position on the wall and assuming his usual position as if absolutely nothing had occurred – giving the embarrassing memory a swift kick to the back of his brain again.

The chestnut-haired one twitched, tensing as he stared at the speaker, feeling his rival move away. He didn’t turn until he heard the door open, his vision hazing not only in his anxiety but also from the slow shutdown Dave had initiated. With his last moments of consciousness, he called out “Sorry, Snake I –!” before he fell to the floor, dull-eyed and seemingly lifeless.

“Oh, Speed! Hang in there!” Guthrie called out, genuinely now, grabbing for his hand and giving it a squeeze as the scraggly-haired gofer of a man snatched up the boy and hoisted him over his shoulder like a rolled-up rug. He gave the others a stare, a raised brow, and a different sort of indifferent snort before turning and walking out of the room, slamming and locking the Storage door.  
___

“Mmnnh…” Racer groaned, lids twitching before slowly, fully opening. Powering down and rebooting like a Programma 101 was, well, still much like fainting – but combined with falling into a deep sleep, the kind a person literally fell into, vision splitting, whatever they were holding dropping from their hand like a lead weight. Then in reverse, as if someone was cranking up an oxygen tank they were hooked to; they felt more and more awake and alert until they didn’t even think about dozing back off.

Heart beating a little faster, he gazed at the dark ceiling – seeing the hanging cleaning arms more clearly, hanging in lower, already prepped place. _Wait, why am I getting another bath so soon anyway!? I just had one three days ag – …oh._

_“When you do finally heal up, I think I’ll put you on a biweekly wash schedule.”_

_Right._ He tried to lift his head – but now found he couldn’t even do that. Strangely, he didn’t feel stiff as usual; his limbs and neck, eyes and lips felt connected, the synapses to move going through – but something was still holding him down tightly. Straining to glance to one side, then the other, he glimpsed his arms, drawn to their lengths, and his legs at a taut angle. Making him look like two halves of DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man – pinned to a table like a magnet to a fridge.

Blinking rapidly and flinching where he couldn’t give his head a shake, he realized _Magnets – that’s it! It must be magnetized – and my endoskeleton has enough metal to keep me stuck here. That’s why there aren’t any cuffs or rope – and why he’s not locking me up like usual. It feels a little worse, but it’s nice not to be mostly paralyzed for a change!_

He heard the intern walking around; then come to a stop, likely staring at him, though he couldn’t quite see. He heard him scoff, beginning in a rare, quieter voice “So…APPARENTLY…Mr. Dave chewed me out because I guess I basically ‘broke the machines’ and ‘overclocked the timers’ and ‘forgot to actually do your hair and teeth’ so…”

Speed wasn’t sure if Townsend had trailed off, or just paused, but chanced speaking up. “Dave yelled at you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the other boy answered sharply, adding even sharper “Bet you’re happy to hear that!”

“Well…part of me is, I guess – but the rest of me actually feels bad. Because you and he seemed to get along so well, you both were really on the same page about…torturing me…and the others.”

“Yeah…” the intern echoed with a contented sigh, smiling with eyes half-rolled up in thought. “We sure bond a lot on that. Heh.”

“And the magnetized table?” the chestnut-haired one ventured.

“Oh, yeah, that too – Mr. Dave said I was also keeping your servos locked up too much, so he helped me set up this thing. Heheh, yeah, magnets – check this out!” After a sound of him scuffling around to the control panels, there came a new kind of click.

“Ngh…ohhhhh!” Racer exclaimed, as he felt his back suddenly arch up off the less-than-shiny flat surface. The angle wasn’t too painful – though the reversed polarity was hardly a back pillow. He grunted and shouted again as he felt himself whump rather solidly back down, his feet bouncing up and holding in the air. “Oh – Ohhh!” Next, his arms flung straight up in a parallel hang before thumping back down. Lastly, with a dark chuckle from the other boy, he felt his head lift, neck bending forward – and after a few seconds as his handler smirked, the back of his head striking the decently thick metal as the normal magnetic pull resumed. Then his head bounced up again, and slammed the table again. And again. And again. And again. Not too fast or hard enough to crack his parietal and/or occipital bone but certainly enough to leave his head very tangibly throbbing and his ears ringing a bit.

Predictably, Townsend cackled, jabbing “Why’re you hitting yourself? Why’re you hitting yourself? HAhaha!”

“NNGHhhhh…ghnnn…” Speed uttered, his hazy dazed gaze returning half-wittingly to the ceiling, which spun a little for him though nothing had been turned on yet.

The computer’s voice now piped up over the intern’s snickering “While we do have all night, we now have exactly 30 minutes less of all night to finish Speedster’s wash and coif.”

“Aw, stuff it, Handy!”  
“Considering I have a limited amount of space for inserting discs and other media storage devices, while you have several spacious and currently unfilled orifices, it would be far more logical for you to ‘stuff it’ in one of those unoccupied orifices than me…Townie.”

The other boy whipped his head around toward the frog-eyed yellow monitor AI looking as if his mouth would legitimately start frothing like a rabies victim. “I told you not to call me that, ya dumb piece of junk!” Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he whirled back around, stalking up to his preferred torture victim, pointing a finger and glaring gravely at the chestnut-haired one already struggling to muffle his reflexive chuckling.

“Don’t you DARE laugh at that!” Townsend rasped.

Brows convex, Racer sucked down the air that would’ve puffed his cheeks, recalling his self-inflicted tendon tearing – which was still freshly painful enough to allow him to swallow his mirth and look his impending tormentor in the eyes as respectfully as he could “Hm…mm…mmhm,” and solemnly nodded.

“Good. Okay, so…” the intern trailed off again, huffing as he returned to the controls. “So Mr. Dave won’t flap his gums at me again, I did THIS.”

“Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 1: Hair-Comber and Toothbrusher, ten minutes,” Handy recited handily, sounding none too displeased himself. “Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 2: Face-Scrubber, Pit-Sweat-Scrubber, and Belly-Scrubber, 120 minutes. Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 3: Undercarriage Scrubber, Foot-Scrubber, and Stilt Polisher, 120 minutes. Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 4: Belly-Scrubber, Foot-Scrubber, and Stilt Polisher, 120 minutes. Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 5: Stilt Polisher, 90. Combined Custom Wash Cycle time at 460 minutes or 7.66666666667 hours.”

While Speed still half-flinched and full-flinched and sniveled at the readouts of each still quite inhumane uninterrupted merciless tickling duration, he recalled that nearly eight hours in a row was still much shorter than the previous roughly 1000 minutes or 16.67 hours of intense merciless tickling that had drilled the tingles into him deep enough to make him unable to take even the smallest breath without giggling it immediately away. And could have have very likely _literally_ killed him by laughter via vital organ failure without his endoskeleton. It seemed his captors really did have some depraved interest in keeping him oxygen-deprived. Also, small wonder it had nearly bricked the machinery as well at that rate.

Hearing the chestnut-haired ones soft throaty whimpers, a once-again broadly-gleamingly-grinning Townsend looked over, chuckling, before walking toward him, standing at the foot of the table. Turning, he sneered with a jab of his thumb “Listen to that, Handy! He’s whining like a real freaking DOG!” Pausing, he then commanded “Sit up and beg for me, gizmo-doggie!”

“Ggh…I…can’t sit up, but –” Racer began through a wince and another attempt anyway, then “Please don’t tickle me! Please, please don’t tickle me! PLEASE don’t tickle me! PleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASEPLEHEASEPLEEEEEASEPLEHEHEASE don’t tiHIckle MEeeee! …please!?”

“Good boy,” the intern bid quietly. More pause. “Are you afraid of me?”

Brows convex over a sardonic smile, Speed said “Many, MANY other people have tortured me and tried to KILL me – but I’m…WAY more afraid of you right now than I ever was of anybody else! And I’m not just saying that!”

“Cool,” Townsend echoed.

“We now have exactly 1 hour less of all night to finish Speedster’s wash and coif,” HandUnit reminded.

“Then START IT UP, you stupid googly-eyed window pane!”

“Commencing Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 1. Please press the buttons behind Speedster’s ears to open his mouth for the Toothbrusher.”

“I know what to do!” the intern huffed, first pushing the chestnut-haired one’s head upright via reversed polarity before darting over and happily locking his jaws wide open – and smiling wider at his helpless bleating. He watched the two coiffing machines work, leaning a shoulder on the wall by the head of the table, arms folded with that same self-proud look.

“Commencing Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 2." Just as the Face-Scrubber lowered, touching spinning bristles to the bridge of Racer’s nose and jawbones, getting him flinching and giggling, Townsend threw up a flat palm.

“Hold on, Handy, I gotta set this up…”

“Holding…” the AI complied, “How long?”

“I dunno, like a few minutes. Just sit there and wait, OK?”  
“That is literally 90% of my current existence.”  
“Well, then you oughta know how to hang on a dang minute!”

Both HandUnit and the chestnut-haired one watched the intern curiously as he pulled up something on another monitor, tweaking it with a few button presses and grumbling mutters. Meanwhile, the AI snuck in a few more whirs of the brushes, getting a “Hehehehehee! Hey! Hehe saihaid to quihit it!”

“It has been exactly 3 minutes and 17 seconds.”  
“Ahahahehe! Noho!”

“O-KAY, now I got it…” Townsend declared, making a last few presses, flipping the polarity to put Speed’s head back flat to the table; pivoting and striding up to the right of his head, he hovered hands over the ‘gizmo’s’ face “Just ONE more thing…!” lightly sliding his thumbs in between eyeballs and socket where his brows met his nose.

Racer heard two new small clicks clear as day, tensing _No! What did he do to me NOW?!_ and upon finding out, instantly wished he hadn’t. _My eyes! I can’t open my eyes!_ His lids twitched, but remained shut as if they’d been glued at the lashes. “NO! Please – PLEASE! Give me back my eyes! Lemme open my eyes! PLEASE!” he begged with fresh panic.

“Aw, but hey, don’t want you getting soap in ‘em or anything,” the intern sneered. “Not exactly the no-crying type. And you’re definitely the crying type, HA!”

“I don’t CARE! Lemme see! Lemme SEE, PLEASE!”  
“Not happening, giz-mongrel. Now wait ‘til you hear THIS…little personal track I made up for ya. Should make your bathtime and my sit-here-watching-you-time even MORE fun!”

The chestnut-haired one fidgeted what little the magnetism would allow, twitching fingers and toes and still trying to tug his lids apart. Even if he injured them, he wouldn’t care – being in the literal dark about everything around him, down here, with this sadistic brute and complicit AI was just about the worst thing.

And then he felt the tiniest click in the back of his head, just above the base of his neck – like a tiny button that needed a pencil or pen tip, or straightened paperclip end to press. The last of which it certainly felt like.

Then…

“HI, EVERYBODY!” came a high-pitched, a-little-too-cheery-for-comfort voice that rang right inside of his skull. “This is Bon-Bon Bonnie the Bunny Bun-Bun with the all new BUBBLY BATHTIME RADIO SHOW!”

_Oh no. Ohhhhh no. OHHHH GOSH NO. NONONONONO._

“For the next SEVEN-AND-A-HALF HOURS, we’ll be talking some FUN Bubbly Bubble Bathtime Talk and singing some SUPER FUN, CATCHY Bubbly-ubbly Bathtime songs!”

“What IS this?! TURN IT OFF! NO, STOPPIT!” Speed bellowed. Even Handy chuckled.

“Wha’cha talkin’ about, gizmo? I can’t hear a thing…” Townsend taunted. “But maybe it’s that special track I made for ya. Glad it’s working, heh. Enjoy!”

“HeHAH! I hear there’s a certain SOMEbody who has a new BATHTIME!” the cringily upbeat bunny went on, “AAAND I hear THAT somebody is really, really, very, really, super, very, really, REALLY SUPER-OOPER T-I-C, K-L-I, S-H – TIIIIICKLLLLLIIIIISH!”

Racer only yawped wordlessly, the signal already tingling across his brain and spine, unable to banish the image of the dementedly happy rabbit specifically summoned to push him to the brink with inane baby-babble teasing where sheer amount of time tickled fell short. He was already wincing with another less-than-helpable grin, tears thankfully finding a tiny gap at the corners of his sealed shut eyes to bead and fall as normal.

“Now WHERE should we start the funtime-fun-funny SCRUBBY-SCRUB-A-DUBBING so Speedy-Speed-Speedster can get SQUEAKY-SQUEAK-A-DEAK CLEAN?” Bon-Bonnie persisted, making the chestnut-haired one tense, stomach squirming and panging, anticipatory tingles flaring like little water geysers from nose to toes. “Hm…HMM…aaaaHA! I think we should staaaaart _riiiiight_ HERE, with _thiiiiis_ …” There was actually enough of a pause for him to let out another brief whine. “SQUISHY TUMMY!”

When the topside Belly-Scrubber dropped down, covering his entire abdomen from sternum to pants hem with swirling bristles, with the gloating intern jutting his stomach up into them with the polarity tweak to boot, he outright jumped, even exceeding his previous tugs against the magnets’ pull. “AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHO NO NO NO NAAIIIEHAHAHA! YAHAHAAA! NOHO PLEHEASE STAHAAAAP!”

“OOP, can’t forget the SIDES! And that CUTE-AS-A-BUTTON-BELLYBUTTON-BUTTON!”

“HAHAHAHAHAAAA! YAHAIIIEHEHE! NOOOHOOOO!”

“UH-OH! WE’VE run all out of SQUISHY-SQUOOSHY TUMMY-TUM to SCRUBBY-DUB! WHERE should we go NOW? OOH, I KNOW! LET’S try AAALL the way around BACK!”

“NOOOOO NOHO! NOOOOHO! NAHAHAT MY BAHACK! NAHAT THEHERE, PLEEEEEHEASE!”

With a gasp as cringily drawn out as all of her outdoor-voiced extra syllables, the maniacal rabbit mused “OOOH, well will you LOOKIT THAT?! This BIG LONG SLIPPY-SLIP-SLIPPERY BACK is JUST AS TICKLE-TICKLY-ICKLISHY as the TUMMY! MAYBE even MORE! THAT makes Speedy SUUUPER SPECIAL!”

“PLEHEASE JUHUST KIHILL ME NAHAHAHAOOOHOW!” Speed scratchily howled already. Then for just a moment, remembered Snake’s attempt at a threat much earlier.

_“I’M GOHONNA FREAKIN’ KILL YOU SPEEHEED! GONNA RUHUN YOU RIGHT OFF A CLIFF WIHITH MY COOL CAR YOU WIHISH YOU HAHAD!”_

_Well, you might just get your wish, Snake!_ “AAAAAHAHA! SOMEBOHODY PLEASE TUHURN THIS THING OFF! I’M GOHOING CRAHAZYHEHEHEEEE!”

“At twenty minutes? Not happening, gizmo-mutt.”

The screen with eyes and the intern paid only in coffee cups continued to watch the chestnut-haired one writhe and scream with laughter, skewing a bit closer to sounding flayed alive if only for the forced lights out.

With another slurp, Townsend turned to his accomplice, asking “Hey, can you whip me up some popcorn or something?”

“Sure. Would you like that with cheese, salt, or exotic butter?”  
“…you some kinda perv?”  
“Exotic – not erotic.”  
“Oh. Well, uh, sure…movie butter popcorn, why not?”  
“Excellent. One moment...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Janet sings to Speed:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BADDeIQWVQ
> 
> HandUnit:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWLLFtVusj0  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uouK66aKGY0
> 
> Bon-Bon Bonnie Bunny:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUOFOrtsXoo
> 
> Deleted Scene:  
> https://www.docdroid.net/AA2zzh5/ratm-ds.doc


	9. Chapter 9

Somewhere between their fifth and sixth date, one afternoon, Speed and Trixie sat in the brunette’s gray-and-red Bell 47J helicopter as their dads talked at length on the front lawn not far from where the Sherbornes had landed it hours ago. The teenagers had finished their lunch and were just enjoying each other’s company, sneaking gazes into each other’s eyes and grinning and quietly chuckling and holding hands – one, then two, then leaning in close to each other.

With their respective parents’ backs turned – though not as if both men weren’t aware or didn’t completely support the relationship anyway – they began nuzzling and kissing and quickly turned to slide into a tight loving hug.

Or what would have been one if Trixie hadn’t chosen to claw her fingers, skating her well-manicured nails across his lower back up to his shoulder-blades. With a sudden jump of a twitch, he tensed, back and neck arching a bit, eyes briefly widening prior to a flinch with a “WHOAhoaha!” and a last shiver before giving his head a shake and resuming his composure, looking sheepish.

Naturally the brunette jumped as well, hands going to her cheeks with a gasp for a second before she reached out, hands then hovering in midair between them, brows convex. “Oh my goodness! I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He could have, no, _should_ have just said ‘yes’. He could have told her that he hurt his back lying on the garage floor too long, or bumped into Pops’s worktable too hard, or _something_. Just anything but the truth he’d been raised to always tell. “N-No, no, eheh, just…ticklish. Pretty ticklish…there. Hmhm.”

She gasped again, a bit longer this time, eyes gleaming and keening over cheeks spread in a wide grin, raising hands with fingers already wiggling parallel, uttering “Ooh, you ARE?!” The chestnut-haired one shrank back against the tightly fastened rotorcraft glass door, his brows in clear convexes. They were fairly even in height, standing or sitting, though he was definitely more legs than torso while she had a bit more of an evenly proportioned figure. Sitting in his nervous slump, she seemed to sit even higher, looking down at him with a face that was less ‘I just found out a cute fun thing about my boyfriend’ and more ‘starving fox that just stumbled onto an industrial turkey farm’.

He grinned despite his anxiety, trying to keep his eyes on hers, and pressing himself as solidly against the door as he could – but she finally lunged, those devious nails trying to slip around his back again though only getting as far as slightly around his sides. Which she wound up squeezing relentlessly between spidering fingers and thumbs. “BAHAHAHA! TriHIHIxiHIe DOhonHOn’t! AHAHAHAA!”

At the commotion, Pops and Papa Sherborne turned, raising brows – then at seeing the teens, shook their heads with knowing smiles to say ‘Oh, you kids…’ before facing forward and resuming their previous discussion.

Withdrawing and letting Speed catch his breath for the moment, still faintly giggling, Trixie clutched her cheeks again, fingers loosely clawed, blushing, eyes hazy, and head every so noticeably tilted. “That’s so cute!” she insisted, “Hmhm! Now I can hear your handsome laugh whenever I want!” waving her head still in her hands a little. “Aaaaah…! I love it!”

With a sigh and a last wheezy, genuine chuckle, the chestnut-haired one pointed out “But I do that for you all the time anyway!” and with another breath, added “Hmhmhmhmhm!”

She smiled broadly, echoing “HmHMHMhmhmhm!”

Then with a coy glance and a smirk, Speed went on “Oh? And how about you? Are you ticklish too?” making the requisite likewise double-handed finger wiggle before reciprocating the pounce “Let’s find out, huh? Tickletickle!” raking them at her ribs before squeeze-squeezing her sides and stomach.

She gave a shriek and a kick, flinching and grinning and flailing a bit with a shrill cry of “SPEEHEEHEED! AAHAHAhahahaHAA! NOhohoho!” Catching her opening one eye, she didn’t seem half as unnerved as he had been. He guessed she most likely hadn’t been at the mercy of a rather merciless and almost constant two-sibling team up for years that had made it not-quite-that-fun at times. Or maybe she just liked it better than he did – which worked fine, because if she was going to tickle him, he wasn’t going to let her just get away with it. And if she enjoyed it anyway, then surely she wouldn’t need to get him back again after that? So he figured for now.

He withdrew, letting her catch her breath as well, musing “Hm, I like your pretty laugh too.” She gave him a silly grin, though still already about as winded as he’d been; leaning against the other closed though unfastened door, though it held well enough. “…I think I wanna hear it some more…” he teased, slipping a hand and arm under her legs, cradling them as he tugged off her shoes, and donned a sillier sort of grin himself as he spidered and raked fingers down her bare soles and tweaked her toes – making her squeal and wriggle again, her pitch jumping a bit but not too ear-splittingly so, though he half-flinched anyhow; still smirking. “Ohh, so you’re REALLY ticklish here!” deliberately reiterating “Hahaha, I love it!”

“EEeeeheHEHEhehehe!” she giggled, a bit more breathlessly now, echoing “SpeeheeHEED!” Feeling as though he’d won – and won her over overall even more than their fancy dinner last night – he slowed to a stop, catching her eyes. She opened hers, locking with his – then promptly smirked, shoving off the door and pushing her legs farther through the curve of his arm, managing to wiggle her toes on his belly and slide them to his sides and squeeze-squeeze again, quite deftly.

Twitching and leaning back with another squirm of his own, he let out an “OhhHOHOhohohahaHA! HEHEY! NoHOho fair!” As he withdrew his arm and grabbed for her ankles again with both hands, she quickly swung her feet wider, grabbing his leg from under her and then pinning it with hers. Tossing aside his loafer, she took one look at his rather thick red sock and quickly went to work scritching and raking at his sole, arch, heel and gliding her nails in rapid sweeps under his toes before also tweaking them and worming fingers between.

“AAHA!” Speed cried with another helplessly grinning wince, tugging fruitlessly on his leg – finding the clinging grip of hers surprisingly steely. “HAHAHAHA! HAHAhahahaHAHA! Trixie noHOHO! StaHAp! NnnnNNAHAhaa! Nahat my toHOhoes, PLEHEhease!” He whumped back against the Bell’s far wall again, head leaned back, thumping against it a few more times and pounding the passenger seat back with a fist.

“Ohhh, nooo?” the brunette mused teasingly, “Ha! DON’T tell me they’re more ticklish than mine! Are they? …oh, I think they ARE! Oh goodness, well isn’t this something?! Hahaha! Kitchykitchyyyy!”

“NahaHAHA! DoHOhooon’t talk like THAHAT!” he begged, only getting closed eyes and a vocalized snort, though she still smiled.

“YOU started it, Speed!” she jabbed, opening one eye in a reverse wink. “And I STILL love it! Hmmm… I love YOU! And I love ALL of your laughs – but your tickled laugh is even cuter! And fun to get…” her gaze fell back to his trapped foot, “tickletickletickletickletickle!”

“OhhHOhohoHO! HahaHA! OhoHO NOho!” he uttered, also sounding quite winded. He wanted to try her trick – but with the angle she’d pinned him at, and her vicegrip, he couldn’t quite slide forward as she had; certainly not without a good chance of kicking her in the face. And while they’d practiced sparring, with many misaimed extremities and equilibriums failing in unintended ways and directions, in this blade-topped tin can, he didn’t want to risk slamming her against the fairly hard wall or glass. As much as she was really starting to drive him up that curving wall.

He settled for trying to turn and tug his leg out instead, getting a bit of a grip with his still-loafered right foot – and after enough twisting and pulling, finally toppled over the seat’s edge, taking her with him to a heap of a crash on the floor.

“Nngh…nn…” he groaned, ceiling blurred and swimming for a moment as he opened his eyes. Lowering his gaze, he saw she’d half-landed on top of him, slightly crosswise. Finally she lifted her head too, looking at him. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm,” she said, “A little dizzy now…”

“Me too…this is a…really great helicopter.”  
“Oh, it IS…I love it so much.”

Smirking at the cue, he added “I love YOU so much.”

“Oh, Speed, you…YOUuuu…” she began, though trailed off, lids drooping as she picked up on his heartbeat, comfily swayed by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“You-you, too, Trixie,” he said with a content smile, pat-pat-petting her back.

“Aah, stop.”  
“Nnnope.”  
“Ohh!”  
“Hahaha!”

Then suddenly, both looked up to see a prying peeping pair of faces smooshed against the glass – it was Spritle and Chim-Chim naturally, the former who gasped, hopping down and running off. They heard him faintly through the door crying “POPS! Speed and Trixie are doing something NAUGHTY in there!”

Naturally the patriarchs came to investigate, and saw the real scene, the chestnut-haired one briefly raising and waving both flat palms with brows in convexes anyhow, and the brunette casually waving up. More head shaking, and they saw Mr. Racer roll his eyes. Once out of sight, they heard him say “They’re FINE, Spritle, now you two run along!”  
___

Sitting in the pilot’s seat of the trusty Bell 47J once more, Trixie sat with a flashlight consulting a map and a few restaurant/shopping plaza brochures. “Speed said it was five or ten miles north-northwest at the shopping plaza by the highway,” she recited as her eyes darted, scanning and comparing the various grids. “And that the building had a big neon sign on it and was at the far end, toward the back road…” Pausing, she extended a finger, tracing and tapping one brochure map and lifting it to mimic the same route to the same coordinate on the general map. “So that means wherever he is must be…right here!” With a shoulder-shrugging sigh, she continued thinking aloud “But the police did look there among other places, they said there was no one there and that the place was emptied out for renovation.” Biting her tongue behind pursed lips, she tapped the coordinate she’d singled out another few times. “I’m sure as badly hurt as he was; Speed was in a lot of pain and couldn’t think clearly. But everything else matches up! And there’s no word about renovation of any of the places in that area…” She found herself staring at the dash, eyes keening as her brain’s gears continued to turn.

Hearing a faint thump, she turned – twitching when she spied the mischievous duo in matching overalls peering in with their faces squished against the glass. They hopped down when she leaned over to open the door – immediately scrambling inside and up onto the empty seat. “Are you gonna go try and rescue Speed?” the boy inquired, echoed by noises from the chimp.

“One way or another!” was her kneejerk response, snapping all the maps and brochures together in a snapping one-handed fold, setting them aside. “Speed tried to escape once but we didn’t realize the kind of danger he was in so we lost him. AGAIN! I’m going to find him – and then I’m going to give the people who hurt him and are still holding him captive a real piece of my mind!”

“Yeah! Us too!” the small boy chimed, standing up on the seat with a pumped fist and a jump, Chim-Chim cheering with a clap. “We’ll help you however we can, Trixie!” Glancing away, his brows lowered. “We would’ve been at the hideout already – but somehow that big creepy guy found us! I’ll show HIM a thing or two about stopping us from sneaking around where we’re needed! HMPH!”

“Mmhm!” the brunette echoed. Checking the time on the dash, she sighed. “It’s still early… Especially if you’re coming alone, we’ll have to tell Pops. Sparky will probably want to come too. There more of us there are, the more chance we’ll have of getting Speed free and back home once and for all.”

“Aw, Trixie, can’t we just go off and try to find Speed NOW? What are we waiting for?! I know Pops’ll be mad and maybe Sparky too – but are they really gonna be that upset if we come back with Speed safe and sound? Huh-huh?”

Now the girl’s brows angled, and she let out a soft but sharp snort. Turning, she said “You know, you’re right! It’s dangerous, but Speed risked his life and limb to get out of there all by himself and if he could do it, then we can definitely get there, and get in and out and get him back for good! We’ll deal with Pops and Sparky later.”

“Heheheh! Now you’re talking!” the boy in the beanie said with a grin, widening his stance and pointing straight ahead through the windshield. “OK, let’s GO! FULL SPEED AHEAD! FOR SPEED! GO, Trixie, GO, GOO!”

“Roger THAT!” the brunette said, throwing the helicopter in gear and lifting off into the quickly brightening sky. Staring straight ahead at the horizon, she said more quietly “Oh, Speed, I hope you’re all right…and I hope you’re not even more hurt!”  
__

“Round and round the Pit-Scrubbers go! And when they stop, NOBODY knows!” Bon-Bon cooed, halfway to another inane baby-babble song number.

“NOOOHOOHO! MAKE THEHEM STAAHAAAP!” the chestnut-haired one screamed hoarsely. Trapped in the darkness still behind his own forcefully pinned shut eyelids, the machine and the taunting shrill-voiced rabbit had more or less merged, manifesting into a fuzzy little purple kit with a red ribbon bowtie, perched on his chest, rubbing her nubby, brush-clutching paws in maddening circles.

“Oh no – nonono, uh-ohohoh! Hmm, seems like these SQUEESHY-SQUOOSHY under-army-pits aren’t getting much SQUEAKY-DEAKY cleaner!” she exclaimed, rising for a moment. “Oh, I see, I see! Hmm, HMM… It seems that with all the BRUSHY-BRUSHING, all the SLIPPY-SLIP SOAP AND WASHY-WASH WATER got all PATA-PATA-TA-PATTED DRY! …Oh, HANDYYYYY!”

The AI said nothing, but positioned the nozzles to spray more water and drip more soap. Unfortunately, because of the cruelly short break, the narrow streams of water felt far worse on Speed’s still-tingling skin; as well as the precise dripping of soap which felt like two of the most infamous forms of Chinese torture combined. One last water spray got him ending a wail of a whine in a squeak. Tiiiiickle tickllllle. Tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle. Tiiiiickllllle.

“HAHAHAA…! AHAhahaha…! EE!”

“OKAY! Let’s try this ARMPITTY-PIT SCRUBBY-SCRUBBERING AAALL OVER AGAIN!”  
“NOHOHO! JUHUST LEHEAVE ME ALONE!”  
“NONSENSE! We’re ALMOST DONE! And THEN we can get to –!”

Now the HandUnit spoke up, repeating “Speedster Custom Wash Cycle Three: Undercarriage Scrubber, Foot-Scrubber, and Stilt Polisher.”

“YAAAY!” the perpetually cheery kit said, resuming her impossibly speedy swirling scrubs – which now also seemed to jolt the chestnut-haired one out of his fatigue, much to his dismay.

“NoHOO!” the chestnut-haired one protested. “HAHAHAHAA! AIEEHEHEHE! NO PLEHEEASE PLEHEHEHE! HAHAHA! STAAAAAHAHAHAP!”

Meanwhile, Townsend hadn’t taken his gaze off of his ‘gizmo’ ward, his hand diving for more popcorn kernels and now scraping the bottom of the bucket. Glancing down, he turned to the frog-eyed yellow monitor. “Hey, HandJive, I’m outta popcorn again. Can you like, go get some more?”

Without a beat missed, the AI replied “Sure. I’ll get right on that.” And was silent for another minute or so until the intern growled.

“I didn’t MEAN it like THAT, dummy! You know, like order it in or something! Or have one of the techs bring me some from the popper upstairs. Something like that. Stupid freakin’ googly-eyed screen brain!”

“Unfortunately, the morning clerks have not yet arrived to start the popcorn machines or restock the candy counters. As you know, in the kitchen, there is always pizza waiting fresh and hot in the standby ovens.”

“Nah, not in the mood for pizza…” Townsend grumbled. Then glanced at Speed again, slowly smirking. “But hey, betcha I know who IS…” He turned to the monitor again, asking quieter “Hey, when did Mr. Dave feed these things last?”

“In Speedster’s case, he was given a standard 5 oz. supplement pouch approximately…12 hours and 20 minutes ago.”  
“Good, so he oughta be nice and hungry, right? Probably thirsty too. Heheh.”  
“With the supplements and liquid provided via those supplements, his endoskeleton will be able to sustain him for at least another…330 minutes or 5.5 hours.”  
“Yeah, whatever, but I bet if he thought he was getting some real food he’d feel pretty hungry. Hang on again, Handheld, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna grab something from the kitchen real quick.”  
“OK. I’ll wait here.”  
“Shut up, stupid!”

Conveniently, when the bunny voice seemed satisfied with the wash as HandUnit called the end time and beginning of the next one, with a few minutes in between – to rest the machines though not the one they washed – the intern sauntered up beside Speed, holding a paper plate with a wide slice of hot fresh pepperoni pizza in one hand and gripping a full tall cup of freshly poured fizzy soda in the other.

Townsend’s mouth corners curled as he watched the chestnut-haired one twitch, nose hiff-hiffing almost like a rabbit. His stomach despite Handy’s assessment, did indeed croak quite loudly. “…Pizza!” the ‘gizmo’ exclaimed, slowly smiling despite everything.

“Heh, yeah, got some pizza. You want some, giz-doggie?” the intern asked, already snickersnorting, holding the plate just a bit closer.

“Ohh, sure! I’d love some!” Speed said without a thought, older memories mixing with more recent ones, the smell, plus memorable anticipated taste making his tongue loll, though he was hardly hydrated enough to drool, adding “Please!”

“Ohh, oh, yeah, sure, here ya go…” Townsend said, chucklesnorting, lifting the slice and dangling it over the chestnut-haired one’s mouth with a wiggle. Speed opened it a bit wider, naturally not seeing the other boy lift a fistful of scraped up trash from the least clean of the kitchen cans, and promptly drop it past his lips. “HAhahaha! STUPID! You really think I’d give you this good food? Dumb gizmo!”

With a slight choke and a weak, definitely drier heave, Speed spit it out, coughing. “Ngh…should’ve known you’d do something nasty like that...!”

“Commencing Speedster Custom Wash Cycle 3. No further input or adjustments to Speedster are necessary for now,” the AI announced.

As the four long-armed brushes pushed past his waistband and spun in an unbearably slow tickly crawl down, his ridiculously happy small plushy purple tormentor was back; she extended paws and long ears clutching more brushes. With another giggle, she sing-sang “Now we SCRUBBY-DUB DOWN the loins and legs and GUESS WHAT? Speedster-Speedy-Speed has a SUPER CUTEY-CUTE MUCH TICKLY-ICKLY BUTT! Hehehehehe!”

Somehow the chestnut-haired one’s cheeks managed to flush even heavier than they already had after all his previous exertion, with a “HAHAEEHEE! YAIHE! HEHEYYYHEHE! PAHAWS OHOFF!”

“SCRUBBY-SCRUB-A-DEE SCRUBBER-A-DUB LITTLE TICKLY-TICKLE KITCHY-KITCHY-KOO CLEAN, BACK TO FRONT!” the purple kit screeched, now not even bothering with going below her highest pitch and decibels anymore. Since it was radiating out of his own head, it didn’t exactly hurt his ears, connecting straight to his brain. “AND THEN WE’RE ALMOST-ALMOST-ALMOST-ALMOST-ALMOST-NOT NEARLY QUITE DONE!”

“AHAHAHA! NOHO NO NOHOHOHO! STOPPIT! GEHET OHOFF ME!” he begged in a loud but almost as shrill guffaw.

“NOPE-A-NOPE! WE’VE GOT A SCRUBBY-SCRUBBERRIFIC-SPONGEY BATHTIME TO FINISH!” Bon-Bon declared, “I KNOW, I KNOW! LET’S PASS THE TIME AGAIN BY SINGING THE HAPPPY-BUBBLY-BATHY-SPLASHY-BUNNY-BUBBLE-POPPIN’-HOPPIN’-BATHTIME SONG! AGAIN!”

“NOOOOOOOOONONONO NOHOOOO!”

“YEEEEEAAAAAAAH-YEAHA! YEEEAAH!” the crazy bunny countered, humming and scat-singing a bit with a bounce and an arm-swinging air-guitar strum plus plushy hip swing before belting out “ _IT’S SOMEBODY’S TIME FOR A BUBBLY-SCRUBBY-SOAPY-SLIPPY-VERY-TICKLY-GIGGLY BATHTIME! JUST WHO?! WHO NOW WHO KNOWS IT’S WHOSE SPECIAL EXTRA SPLASHY BATH-BATHY BATHTIME? SPEED-SPEEDY-SPEEDSTER KNOWS! HE KNOWS IT’S TIME TO SCRUBBER-SCRUB-SCRUBBY-SCRUB-A-DUB HIM UP FROM DIRTY-HAIR-HEAD TO DIRTY-WIGGLY-TOES! WE’RE GONNA GET HIM SQUEAK-A-SQUEAKY-DEAKY-DEAK CLEAN AND HUHUHU-MWEHEHEHEEE-FUWEEHEHE-HUEHUEHUE-EE! IT’S GONNA DO A LOT OF TICKLE-TICKLE-TICKLY-TICKLISH-TICKLERY-KITCHY-GITCHY-GYUU TI-CKL-IIIIING! WE’RE GONNA TICKLE THE SPEEDY CLEAN TO A SPEEDY-SPEEDERIFIC SUPER SQUEAKUM CLEAN! OHHH YEAHAHEE! SO LET’S BUNNY HOP-BATH BUBBLE POP OVER TO A HOPPITY-HOT NEEDS-A-SCRUB-CLEANER-CLEAN TICKLY-TICKLE SPOT_!”

Speed began another scratchy yawp from the kiddie-fied blare of nonsense – though ended solidly on a lurching sob, more tears beading and trickling steadily from the pinhole gaps in his sealed lids. Gritting his teeth with a wheezy gasp, he fought the magnetism's tug – and when he’d raised his head as far as he could, let it yank him back down, effectively slamming it on the metal much like the intern had earlier.

He repeated this a few times before the other boy huffed “Uh-uh, don’t think so, you stupid gizmo!” nearly falling off his chair as he made a scramble for the control panel, reversing the polarity to cradle his head. “There…now lay there and get cleaned up so I can put you back and get OFF this volunteer graveyard shift!”

“May I suggest some music to calm you down?” Handy piped up, pulling up his keypad with a click.

“Sure. Uh…I dunno, you know what I like. Just put on something I’m used to.”

“It seems you had trouble pronouncing the song title. I heard what you were trying to say, and I will autocorrect it for you. One moment. Now playing...Summertime Blues.”

“I didn’t say –!” the intern began, though stopped, relaxing as the beat and lyrics started, slowly getting into them.

_I'm gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler_  
_About a-workin' all summer just to try to earn a dollar_  
_Every time I call my baby, try to get a date_  
_My boss says, "No dice son, you gotta work late"_  
_Sometimes I wonder what I'm a-gonna do_  
_But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues_

“You know, you’re a jerk, Handlebars, but you’re not all bad.”  
“Same to you, Townie. Same.”  
“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song HandlUnit plays for Townsend: https://youtube.com/watch?v=kRTrefI3mKc


	10. Chapter 10

The other three sat in their usual places in their usual positions, having remained mostly silent and kept to themselves. Certainly, they did interact without their front man – but not as much, not as energetically. Part of that being the knowledge that the chestnut-haired one certainly was off under unspeakable humiliating duress; they anxiously awaited his return.

Snake, the first to hear noise mushrooming from behind the door, began counting aloud “…five…four…three…two…”

Racer came rolling in, but now came to rest on belly and knees, hands clutching and vising his head as he shook, halfway to a seizure, cringing and whimpering and slurring his words as he babbled “NoNOnonoNO! Don’tsingthebunnysongPLEASEIdon’twantthebunnysongGETITOUTOFMYHEAD!”

“Sheesh…” Oiler uttered, frowning, turning to the others with a light thumb jab. “I swear, more and more it seems like this whole thing was a setup just to see how far they could mess with Speed.” He paused with a hazier glance aside. “Heck, even I never wanted to do anything nuts like that…”

“Speed?” Janet ventured softly as usual – and that one syllable was all it took to pierce the latest veil of insanity he’d been driven to, getting him lunging at her and clinging tight, though he still shook.

“I’mnotthatSTRONG!” he professed in a sob, wincing out waterfalls and sniffling. “I’vealwaystriedtobeaMANbut – butI – butit – mmn...!”

Again, due to their enhancements and their proximity, their senses were heightened to the point that even through post-traumatic-stress sniveling, they were able to understand Speed’s sentences as clearly as anything.

“There, there…it’s okay, it’s OKAY…” Guthrie coaxed just above a whisper, combing her fingers through his albeit nice clean hair, “Think of creampuffs…think of hot dogs…think of nice, fun songs on the radio…” Beginning a hum, she started yet another song. Satchmo, of course. " _I see treeees of green, reeed roses too…I see them bloooom for me and you…And I think to myseeelf what a wonderful wooorld_ …”

As she began gently but firmly petting his back, his shuddering slowly stopped, he took and let out a much longer breath, seeming to relax. Though his grip on her didn’t loosen too much. “Thankyou…thank you…!” he squeaked.

With a half-scoff, half-sigh from John, the ‘old man’ said “Being a man is…well, it’s much more about…being strong for others. When you’re by yourself, you’re just as…twitchy and jumpy and…afraid and uncertain as any woman or child…or anything. But if you’re WITH a woman or child, you suck it up – and you face that fear, you face that great unknown. For THEM. Even trying to cross every finish line in existence with every kind of wheels you can…it’s not for YOU, it’s for THEM. It’s for those you love. To give confidence to others, as much as yourself. If you wanted just to…just to prove YOU could do something, well, you’d go off on your own and accomplish a goal where nobody could see it but you. Being a man is coming in first among many other men. Inspiring them – even in a fit of boyish tantruming frustration – to do better. To beat you. So you can beat them. Into eternity and…God’s kingdom and so forth.”

The wavy-haired boy stared off in thought, turning as Surtees finished and asking “So…just to be clear, ‘being a man’ is like…inspiring folks…but acting all proud about it?”

With a sage nod, John said “More or less.”

“Heh, well, I’ve been doin’ that.”

Suddenly, the chestnut-haired one convulsed, cringing with a pained roar, and toppling over, returning hands with clawed fingers to the sides of his head, as if trying to crush it. “AAAGH! It won’t go away! IT WON’T STOP! IT WON’T GO AWAY!”

“What won’t go away?” Janet asked, pausing, then seeing Speed only continued to cower, slowly lifted him up to a kneel – then leaned in putting her lips to his, making his eyes widen. But it wasn’t an adulterous distraction she intended, that much was clear when even the other two heard the solid ‘clack’ of her teeth against his.

For a moment, she listened, then finally heard his current shrill-voiced tormentor “SPEEDY-SPEED IS SO TICKLY-ICKLY-ICKLY-ISH! HE’S GONNA GET TICKLE-ICKLE-ICKLED! NOT LONG BEFORE MORE BRUSH-BRUSHY-BRUSH AND SHINY-WHIRLY-SCRUBBY TINGLES!” drawing back with a yelp of her own.

“GOODNESS!” she exclaimed, “No wonder you’re a wreck! ANYone would be, with that…”

“With what? What’d they do to him now?” Oiler queried, sitting up and catching her eye. Quickly adding and emphasizing with gestures “Except without the…y’know…”

“Well, if you don’t want to connect that way, I suppose you’d have to…” she looked up with a light bob of her head, then lowered her gaze, finishing “…basically bite the back of his head.”

“That’s worse! Ghh…stupid…” Snake snipped, though he moved closer behind Racer, “All right, let’s see this…” and darted in, doing so, his teeth making contact with the skull through the skin and hair. And was promptly privy to Townsend’s customized track as well.

“JUST ONE MORE, TWO MORE DAYS, ‘TIL YOUR NEXT GIGGLY WIGGLY SCRUBBY-DUBBY BUBBLY BATH-YOU-TIME! SCRUBBY-SCRUB TICKLE YOU ‘TIL YOUR SKIN AND STILTS SPARKLE-SHINE!”

The wavy-haired boy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, as he flung himself back with the force of an invisible mine explosion, shouting “WHOA! What the freakin’ FER-DE-LANCE was THAT?!” Pausing to collect himself, now snorting with a headshake “BOY, there’d be a whole lotta BLOOD down there if anybody tried stickin’ that ninny nonsense in MY head!”

Naturally, in another rather cartoonish moment, Speed chuckled, adding “Oh, I don’t think that’s very true, Snake.”

“HEY! Sure it is!”  
“Uh-uh.”  
“Yuh-huh!”  
“Nah.”

“You little –!” Oiler began, stopped by a stern gaze from Guthrie.

“Snake, come on. He’s just starting to feel better. Let him have it for now.”

With a snort, the rival resumed his usual moody hunch, arms across his chest – however, with a sigh, he muttered “Eh, blood, tears, mine, theirs, what’s the difference?”

“NNGH!” Racer growled, flopping to the floor again, clutching his forehead now, rolling on his side in a tight fetal curl, cringing. Like a migraine or insufferable itch from insect bites, he seemed to have grown accustomed to it – save for short bursts when it still flared past his threshold. “MAKE IT STOP! TURN IT OFF! I CAN’T TURN IT OFF!” Still cringing, he reached a trembling arm up, fingers sliding to the back of his head where he’d felt the narrow prick of whatever the intern had used to press the push-button to sync the sadistic shrieking voice to him. Naturally, even his pinkie fingers were too large to fit.

Seeing this, the female driver’s eyes darted, and she glanced at her finger before quickly taking a couple bites of her nail. Sinking down to hand and knees, she lightly grasped the chestnut-haired one’s head by the chin, aligned the narrowed point of her nail, bid “This might hurt, I’m so sorry!” and proceeded to press the tiny hidden button down, holding it for a second or two. She heard him grunt, and spied a bead of blood on her fingernail.

However, moments later, Speed uttered an “Ohhh…it’s quiet…it’s GONE! That horrible voice is GONE! FINALLY!” and winced though grinned, tears beading and trickling down his cheeks. “THANK YOU, Janet. You’re the BEST!”

Then, however, another voice rose in its place, uttering “Janet? …Speed, is that you?”

Jolting to a sit, eyes bulged wide, clutching his temple, Racer cried “TRIXIE?! Is that YOU? Ohh!”

“SPEED, it IS you! Where ARE you?!” the brunette asked.

“Where I TOLD everybody I was! Still trapped with Snake, Janet, and John by Mr. Dave at the kids’ pizzeria in the plaza!” he replied.

Meanwhile, the pilot maxed the volume on her radio, clutching her mic as she explained “Oh, Speed! The police drove over there for three days – but every time it was empty. The story they got is it was cleared out for repairs and renovations – but I haven’t found anything like that. Even though they said it was dark and empty, I’m coming to check it out for myself RIGHT now!”

“Empty?! But we’ve been doing shows for the past few days, it certainly hasn’t been empty!” Speed said; then twitched. “Wait, YOU’RE coming HERE?!”

On cue, naturally, he heard the small boy’s voice, with the chimp’s in the background. “HI, Speed! Chim-Chim and I’re here too, and we’re ALL coming to get you and bring you home so NOBODY can EVER take you away AGAIN!”

“SPRITLE! You too? And Chim-Chim? And…I – …ohhh…” Closing his eyes with a tired genuine chuckle, he added “Well, that sure sounds nice…” Opening them, he blinked, and suddenly realized that the other three had huddled around him as if he were an actual radio, Guthrie and Surtees pressing their cheekbones to his, and his rival pressing his into the same skullbone he’d sunk his teeth into previously. He only both chuckled and sighed again, noting “Well, we’re all waiting for you. We’d love to get out of here as soon as possible!”

“Understatement ‘a the CENTURY!” Snake noted, giving him a ticklish back poke that made him shiver with a grinning flinch.

“Yah! …mm, so where are you? Exactly where?” Racer asked.

“We’re right above the plaza, coming in for a landing now,” Trixie answered. I’ll leave the heli on the back road to draw a little less attention.”

“Mmn…okay. Good luck!” Speed said, though thought _Even though I’m sure Mr. Dave already knows they’re here. He’s probably even listening in to all of this right now! …but you know what? I don’t care! I’m so tired of this…I’m so sick of this, sick of all of this! Literally! Trixie and I – heck even Spritle and I’ve gotten through things the police haven’t been able to solve before. I believe we can even get out of this. And I WANT to! I can’t take another bathtime, I can’t take another showtime! I want to go home – I NEED to GO HOME!_  
___

Sidling around the building the brunette and small boy and great ape in overalls all peered in the tall show window. “Well, the police were right – it DOES look completely empty,” Trixie noted, then consulted her notes again. “But according to our last communication, the signal DEFINITELY came from right in here! …which means that Dave Miller fellow is DEFINITELY using some kind of trick to throw everybody else off and keep Speed and the others prisoner!”

“Well, he won’t fool us! Isn’t that right, Chim-Chim?” The chimp gave a vigorous and vocal shake of his head.

Just as she went to try the front door regardless, the pair jumped when the lights promptly came on inside, the entire floor slowly rising with a loud whirring and clanking, revealing the usual play-games-place and pizza eatery. This included the show stages – and the ‘animatronics’.

“SPEED!” the brunette called, throwing open the door and sprinting toward it and her boyfriend – though for the moment he stood disconcertingly still. His eyes were open and he seemed to smile faintly, she could still see his chest and stomach expanding with breaths – but beyond that, he looked as lifeless as any store mannequin. The others likewise. “Speed?”

“Oh wow!” the boy in the beanie noted, making wide visual sweeps, even craning his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “This place looks JUST like that Fazbear Pizza place Speed and I stopped at! But even bigger!”

“Speed, speak to me…” Trixie begged, lightly clutching him by the upper arms and trying to give him a shake – finding him unusually stiff as well. “What’s wrong, Speed?” she asked, brows convex, looking into his eyes.

“He CAN’T hear you…” a voice hissed, the whisk of breath on her neck making her shiver and tense, eyes wide.

Spritle looked up, seeing the strange man so close and only gasping deeply; he and the chimp froze in place as well. It looked somewhat like the man they’d seen in the smaller diner – but here he looked much different. Taller, suaver, richer, even; more powerful and definitely assuming.

“Well, that is, he can,” the man said, chuckling dryly, “but he can’t do anything about it right now. And neither can you!”

The brunette said nothing, wincing and whirling around, managing to deliver quite a resounding slap, practically shoving the stranger away as if he’d been hit by a projectile. She grabbed her boyfriend’s arms, furiously tugging. “Come on, Speed! Let’s go, let’s get out of here!” But he wouldn’t budge. 

And then she remembered the sight of the strange holes, realizing they must have been a part of rooting him to the floor. Letting go of him and sinking to a crouch, she peered beneath the soles of his shoes to indeed see the metal extending into the polished wood.

“Ohh! You monster!” she exclaimed, springing back to a strand and pivoting to face him as he rose, cackling at her glare.

“Innovator,” he casually corrected, eyeing her as if she was an elementary schoolgirl. He glimpsed the actual school-aged boy and chimp, brow rising briefly, his interest caught.

Said boy decided to unwittingly take a page from his brother’s book, proclaiming with another rigidly pointed arm and finger “You’re the most dangerous man I’ve ever met and you’re whacky!”

“Whimsical, perhaps.”

When Chim-Chim added several angered noises and gestures, he laughed again, quite loud and genuine, grinning wider.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

Suddenly, the chestnut-haired one’s arms reached out, clasping tightly around Trixie’s chest and arms, pinning her. “Oh! Speed? …Speed, let go! Let GO!”

“He won’t,” Dave said calmly, approaching her once more as he withdrew his hand from the controlling remote in his pocket. And now allowed himself a villainous staple, sliding a hand around her cheek to cradle her jaw as he looked her in the eyes, his lids drooping. “Such a pretty thing…how would you like to perform for me too, darling?”

The brunette leaned away at first – then lunged to bite his fingers, making him flinch and recoil. With a few blinks, his grin and cackle returned. 

“Tricky little girl!” he mused.

Trixie bared gritted teeth – but then twitched, first feeling then looking down to see her boyfriend’s arms quivering, feeling his grip loosen. She could hear him mumbling behind her, his breath on her curls and neck. “…Speed? Is that you?” she asked, glancing back.

“…ee…wun…” he seemed to say, slowly inch-by-inch withdrawing his arms, “…see won…” finally sliding his hands apart, voicing “She WON’T!” eyes closing with a flinch, opening to reveal a very autonomous glare at his captor. “GO, Trixie! Take Spritle and get OUT of here, NOW!” He added sternly.

Whirling around, brows convex before angling quickly, the brunette snapped back “NO! Not without YOU! We came all this way to get YOU out of here!”

“It doesn’t –!” Racer began, suddenly jolting with another firm full-click-down press of a control button by Miller, cueing a flow of all-too-familiar-energy from clamps around the stilt connects beneath the stage. “HAAhahaHAHAHA! AHAHAHAhahaHAHA!” Teeth bared in a helpless grin with twitching lips, the boy leaned a bit, hanging helplessly. “GAHAHAAA!” _AAH, NOT THIS AGAIN! NOT HERE, NOT NOW! I’M SO SICK OF THIIIS!_

“Oh, FINE, HAVE your PAIN!” Dave spat, hitting a different button – the very hot harnessed volts almost visible as striking lightning as they radiated up the connecters and stilts, making the chestnut-haired one convulse involuntarily, head jerking back and up, eyes bulging again before he cringed, a different kind of jarred scratchy yowl escaping his throat. He hung a bit more limply on his stilts when the voltage clicked off.

“SPEED!” Trixie screeched, running to him again, putting a hand on his shoulder and chest. “Are you okay? Speak to me, Speed!”

“Tri…xie…” he uttered with a cough, looking at her in a dazed half-flinch, brows convex. “…don’t want you…get hurt…”

“Speed, I –!” she started, literally forced back when Miller jammed down the button again, throwing her boyfriend into more yawping involuntary shuddering. “AAH!” she shouted, half-in pain herself, half-furious.

Idly waving the remote in his hand, Dave said “A pity at this strength, I can only shock you about three times before your hardware starts to fry…I mean, I wouldn’t care – but it’s such a pain to fix…” and promptly mashed the button with his thumb again.

“STOP IT!” Trixie screamed, turning to stare rapiers at the man, then watch helplessly as the chestnut-haired one endured more excruciating zaps. “LEAVE HIM ALONE, YOU TWISTED CREEP!”

Finally, he clicked it off, leaving Speed to sag again, head now fallen forward, looking out cold if not worse. With another few clicks, the connecters released, and the stilts receded, leaving the boy to collapse onto the stage.

“SPEEEED!” the brunette called again, nearly tripping in her scramble to reach him, crawling halfway onto the occupied stage to crouch beside him, a hand on his back, the other to his cheek, leaning down. “Speed! PLEASE say something…Speed, wake up! PLEASE be all right!”

“Trix…ie…” he echoed, making her smile – then frown when he began to pick himself up, opening his eyes only to reveal the same previous glassiness.

“No…NO, Speed, no – fight it! You’ve GOT to fight him!” she pleaded.

“There’s a good – oh, what was that lovely term Townsend used? ‘Giz-dog’? – good giz-dog,” the man bid in a sneer; adding with a glance at the girl “No, I think I’ll have him fight you instead!”

“Huh? OH!” the brunette exclaimed, not quite missing a swung punch, and half-tumbling, half-skidding across the floor. Rubbing her jaw with a half-flinch of her own, she picked herself up, staring down her boyfriend. Remembering a dozen friendly sparring matches with tears welling, she dodged his next lunge and swing, ducking to swing her leg wide and knock him off his.

The chestnut-haired one grunted as he lost his balance, but didn’t quite fall, throwing his hands down to spring into a slightly off-kilter somersault, and returning to a steady wide stance, swinging up a kick of his own which she blocked. 

If it had been any of their previous fights, she might have even grabbed his ankle to slide off his shoe and coyly tickle his foot – but seeing that psycho force him into a laughing fit made her physically ill. It would have to be a real, hard-hitting fight. To the incapacitation, at least, if not knocking-out-cold, which also made her nauseous to think. But what choice did either of them have? If Speed was too weak now to resist – and where the heck was Spritle?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Janet sings to Speed: https://youtube.com/watch?v=A3yCcXgbKrE
> 
> Regarding 'Dave's comment about zapping Speed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkEEvZa8se0&t=2m59s


	11. Chapter 11

“Chim-Chim, WAIIIT!” the boy in the beanie called to his hairier twin as the latter barreled down the back hall. “Where are you GOING? We have to save Speed and Trixie!”

The chimp finally skidded to a stop, jumping and pointing and even somersaulting in front of a door. Craning his head back, Spritle gazed up at the name plaque.

“Huh, Dave M. – that’s the owner, so this must be the main office! But how to we get in?”

With a proud grin, the great ape dug into his pocket, hoisting out a discarded paperclip he’d found around behind the counter.

“Great going! Let’s get inside and see if we can find anything that’ll help!” Taking the clip, he reached up, tongue clinging to his cheek, picking the door lock until it clicked. Turning the handle and tugging open the door, both darted in the room, shutting it after them and running around the edges until both came upon the desk and chair against the back wall.

Smaller than the other offices, this was clearly a personal room. There was a clutter of papers, printed and written on in various colors of pen. A few knickknacks, some garbage, and franchise drink cups of various sizes sat grouped around and on top of, oddly enough, a reel-to-reel recorder that looked like a Honeytone Portable. Clearing it off and opening it, Spritle clicked the switch to ‘Play’ and both listened carefully.

“It's only now that I understand the depth of the depravity of this creature. This monster that I unwillingly helped to create...” a man’s deep, life-wearied voice began saying, trailing off before continuing. “As if what he had already done wasn't enough, he found a new way to desecrate, to humiliate, to DESTROY…”

“Who is that? Huh?!” the boy in the beanie wondered aloud. “It doesn’t sound like that whacky guy at all!”  
___

Breathless, Trixie skidded back, dropping to a doubled-over hunch. She only had moments to gulp down more air before she glimpsed her possessed boyfriend lunging for her again. Straightening herself with a grunt, she blocked another direct chop, the following few punches, and leg-for-leg matched his kick – though her planted ankle twisted a little too far. When she grunted with a flinch, swung another chop to her neck, sending her toppling, and getting in another kick as she went down, making her roll to a wincing thud against the counter.

The other three captive performers looked on unmoving, but a keen eye could spot tears beading, finally welling over and trickling down their cheeks. It was enough of an emotional burst from their consciousnesses to slowly override their standby modes, as Racer had struggled to. However, they kept quiet, otherwise still pinned in place to their own connects. They shared a few blurry glances without turning their heads.

Amid dry guffaws, Miller watched as the chestnut-haired one dutifully wrapped his hands around his girlfriend’s throat, easily squeezing them into fists and her windpipe flatter with it. “Kill her!” he ordered unabashedly, “ _KIIILL_ HERRR!”

Gasping for breath, the brunette clutched at his hands, struggling, tears beading and falling from her own eyes as she looked into his. As her lids drooped, she let go, throwing hands up to claw at his collar, just managing to grab it – and promptly tugged him down further, grabbing at his ears and neck until she could grasp his head firmly enough to bring it down to hers, pressing her lips to his, and letting her eyes close.

Even mid blink, the deeper aware blue of Speed’s eyes came rushing back. He looked down, seeing her battered face and matted curls, and closed his eyes, tears dripping as he returned her kiss.

Feeling much a lighter warm pressure on her trunk, Trixie opened her eyes with another full breath, seeing her boyfriend on top of her like she’d so often lay on top of him. Like their awkward fall after parked heli hijinks. She exhaled through a grin, what would’ve been a chuckle if she had the energy. Smiling wider and flinching out more tears, she slid her arms around him – keeping palms flat and firm as they slid over his back. She felt him give a similar tired wheeze of a chuckle as well as he opened his eyes again.

“Trixie…I’m SO sorry…!” he said quietly, lips quivering. “I never – NEVER meant to hurt you…”

“YOU didn’t…I know you never would…me neither.”  
“Trixie…!”  
“Oh, Speed…!”

A livid Dave growled with gritted teeth bared, grabbing his remote and aiming it. “With all your boohooing, I can fry you both right now!” He smashed the button, the click making the pair wince – but it seemed ‘twas beauty that killed the battery. “WHAT?! NO! NOT NOW! You BLASTED –!” Cutting himself off, he threw the thing aside.

While the man was still distracted with his star attraction, the others heard clicks and other noises coming from below the stage, looking down as their connects disconnected. Snake and Janet looked around behind them only to see Spritle and Chim-Chim pop their heads up from an otherwise concealed hatch. “Hey, c’mon you guys! We gotta get outta here and FAST!” the boy bid with a wave of his arm. “C’MON!”

Able to pull their stilts free, John, Guthrie, and Oiler only nodded, once again dashing toward the exit. Only now noticing them with a jump and a very brief shocked face, Miller snarled, “Oh, NO you don’t!” diving for the door locks under the counter.

Trixie gasped, then felt and watched as the chestnut-haired one sprang up, snapping his fingers around his captor’s arm as tightly as he had her throat earlier, pulling him back with a counter of “Ohh! No YOU don’t! Trixie’s right, you are a CREEP!” and with a venting roar, flung the man across the floor with another solid judo swing. Dave’s eyes momentarily widened again before he flew through the air landing with a yell.

“COME ON, SPEED, HURRY!” the brunette screeched, clutching the door. The five others had already sprinted past, though now skidded to a stop, looking back.

Racer nodded, breaking into a run – but was tripped up with a solid leg swing from Dave, who then pounced on him, the two beginning a usual rough tussle. As his captor slammed him up against the window like a hockey player hip-check, the chestnut-haired one grunted, flinching, continuing to struggle.

“SPEED! SPEEEED!”

As he felt the man begin to pull away in her direction, Speed growled, keeping and tightening his grip on his wrist, struggling before managing to swing him back further against the wall. As Miller pounced again, the two of them reaching another trembling stalemate, the boy glanced over his shoulder, reiterating firmly “Just GO, Trixie! Take Spritle and everybody and GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!” now adding with a weak sheepish smile “I’ll hold him off! And you can come back for me – I’ll still be here…I PROMISE!”

“NO, SPEED, I WON’T LEAVE YOU!” the brunette screamed, “NOT AFTER ALL THAT! ARE YOU CRAZY?!”

“What the heckin’ HOGNOSE?!” the wavy-brown-haired one spat, “He’s not comin’ with?! That’s BOOMSLANG!”

At that moment, everyone jumped, stomachs sinking as pulses pounded cold, seeing Miller give the chestnut-haired one a punch to the base of the skull, slamming his face against the glass one more and finally knocking him unconscious. Throwing a death glare at the six outside, as Racer slid to a heap on the floor, he stalked around to the counter and triumphantly slammed the button for the door locks.

Trixie ran back up to the front door, tugging and pounding on it, hollering. “SPEED! SPEEED! YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE, YOU MONSTER!”

Dave didn’t even give her a glance now, hoisting up the unconscious star attraction over his shoulder and walking off toward the back hall. She continued to howl and punch the glass until she couldn’t see them anymore, sinking to a heap, quickly in more tears and still growling and muttering what little her nearly-raw vocal chords could.

Janet sank to a kneel beside her, putting an hand on her shoulder. When she looked up, lips quivering, the woman gave her a sympathetic smile, and when she lunged like her boyfriend, the same warm comforting hug. “It’s okay, dear…Speed’s so very brave and very strong, I’ve seen it, we all have…he endured even more than any of us –”

“I KNOW! That’s why I – I – he –…” the brunette squeaked out.

“– and he promised to get help for us before. And he did. And he stopped that awful man from trying to hurt you or any of us anymore.” Trixie nodded as they withdrew, wiping sloppily at her eyes and sniffling; Guthrie took her hands again, regardless, giving them a reassuring squeeze, looking her in the eyes. “And if he says he’ll hold out until we can get him more help, then I believe him. Don’t you?”

The brunette nodded again, once, then several times vigorously. “Mm…mmhm! He’s always been…so strong…for me and everyone.”

“Mmhm. Definitely. But let’s honor his wishes and get out of here before that creep tries to do anything else.”  
“All right. Yes, you’re right, we should. For Speed!”

As they stood up, Spritle added “So we can go get the police again and get some real help for Speed! Everybody in the helicopter, COME ON!”

Trixie kept the heli at a hover, radioing the authorities, and watching for any movement around the building. The cops came with sirens wailing, another ambulance, and the spare car with Sparky and a very conflictingly-emotional Pops in tow.

While hospital staff tended to the other similarly afflicted drivers, Team Racer followed the badge-clad ones inside after they’d finally managed to break down the door. They scoured every inch of the building, down and up and down again. And along a hidden underground tunnel that led to an exit much farther away from the plaza.

Just like the successfully thrown off chase from the hospital, however, while there were tire marks, there was no car, no crazed captor, and no Speed Racer.

Heart pounding faster again, the brunette tried to scream – but only let out a squeak closer to a honk, and finally exhausted herself to a faint. Thankfully, she was standing close enough to Pops, who stepped back as he caught her. The staff quickly carried her to a bed in the back of the ambulance.

“MmnnAAH!” Spritle bellowed, clutching his head and frantically shaking it with a wince, mirrored by Chim-Chim. “If this was any other crazy guy with any other stupid plan Speed got mixed up in, we woulda caught him TEN TIMES OVER by now! It doesn’t make ANY SENSE! What’re we DOING WRONG?!”

“You’re not doin’ anything wrong,” the mechanic offered, crouching to pat him on the shoulder, then glancing up down the road in the tracks’ direction. “Problem is, this guy keeps doing everything too right. Usually thankfully Speed only gets mixed up with guys who aren’t too bright about whatever it is they’re doing. This guy is, though. It’s not anybody’s fault but his.” He paused. “And y’know what, Pops wasn’t even mad when we figured you guys were gone earlier!”

The boy in the beanie and chimp looked up, the former looking up with jaw a tiny bit slack. “He wasn’t?”

“Nah, not a chance. Because he missed Speed so bad too and HE felt bad about losin’ him at the hospital before, so he figured you’d go off and try to find him. We were hoping you n’ Trixie’d catch this creep red-handed and we could all go home. Even if we still gotta keep lookin’ for Speed again, you guys did save Snake and Janet and John – and now they can all go home to their families again. I’m sure their moms and dads and sisters and brothers are all super happy about that!”

“I know,” Spritle said, glancing down the road with a frown, “and I know Speed told us to go and he promised us he’d be okay, but…but…but I WANT MY BROTHER BAHAAACK!” he shouted, finally tearing up as well in typical tantrum. “WAAH~HAAAH!”

The mechanic said nothing, eyes closed with a sigh, though he hugged the boy and likewise bawling chimp. Looking up with convex brows, he joked quietly “Jeez, Speed, why d’you always hafta be such a standup guy? If you were just a little more selfish, you wouldn’t get into half these scrapes! But if you say you’re okay, well, you’d BETTER be! You’d better not let yourself get done in before we get there, okay?! We’re holdin’ you to it!”


	12. Chapter 12

The next thing Speed knew, he wasn’t laying or sitting anywhere – but dangling from a mockup mizzenmast spar. In his boot, he quickly adjusted his grasp with an “Ohh! Oh...ohhh!” as he gazed down. There looked to be some sort of leather easy chair more or less directly beneath him, oddly enough. Then in came a crew of pirates, a lavishly dressed captain and first mate – which he quickly recognized as the devious Mr. Miller and tormentor Townsend, surrounded by a bunch of young gradeschool-aged kids looking fresh from a trick-or-treating run. 

Raising a brow, he glanced at the darkened blur in his periphery – seeing that indeed, he seemed to have been dragged into a live show of sorts. This wasn’t the previous location – it was still quite large, but definitely a different layout. Noticeably with room for a crowd of seats for family, friends, and other guests of the pint-sized performers, much like a school theater. Though, the far counter and machines in the corner and along the walls confirmed that it was yet another eatery. How many locations did this crazy creep have set up?

“Avast ye!” cried Dave, swinging his plastic sword to point at the older taller boy above them. “Why, if it isn’t the famous Speedster Raceway come to try and pilfer back his cool car and other goods we stole!” For a moment, the man gave him a very genuine glare “Bad enough he already busted our brig and let all our prisoners escape!”

With a flinch and a grunt, the chestnut-haired one glared down, correcting. “It’s SPEED RACER!”

“Speedster Racer, Speedie Raceway, Speedo Torpedo – WHATever ye be callin’ yourself….” Miller said with a circle of his sword and a matching roll of his eyes, “Ye be TRESPASSIN’! And ye be CAUGHT trespassin’!” Turning to his bright-eyed eager crew, he bid “Come on, let’s get him down from there before he escapes, shall we?”

Naturally, the kids all picked up sticks nearly the size of vaulting poles, all tipped with little claw-fingered hands and large feathers. They stood closer, scritching and flitting the things all around Racer, two of the feathertips sliding neatly into his sleeves. “Ahaha! HeHEy! NOho! DoHOhon’t!” he yelped helplessly with a cycling kick of his already-bared feet, struggling to keep a grip on the pole. He didn’t stand a chance when two of the hands raked at his sides, another few skating and scritching at his back “HAHAHAHA! NOOHO! GAHAA!” and winced as gravity grabbed him.

He landed in the chair quite squarely with a grunt – a softer fall than he’d been expecting, though certainly not a nice one. His limbs flung out from the force, straps on the spread out arms and legs snagging his wrists and ankles snugly. He opened one eye, then the other, watching and sweating as the snickering scurvy crew drew closer, now all looking like their maniacal captain.

“Oh…ohhh…” he uttered, reflexively struggling for a moment. He was about to ask the standard fate-tempting question when Townsend happily posed it for him, turning to his beloved captain.

“What shall we DO with him, Cap’n?”

Dave looked thoughtful, though grinned. “Well, I be thinkin’…that in order to right PROPERLY punish this no-good do-gooder and teach him a good lesson – and ALL who might be thinkin’ ‘a tryin’ to pirate from the best pirates that ever sailed…WE oughta give ‘im…” and again punctuated his point with his plastic cutlass “…the TICKLE-TORTURE!”

With a jump and a cold pulse, brows convex and a flail of his head, Speed quite genuinely cried “NO! Please, not that! ANYthing but that!” and adding with a bit of a pout “Didn’t you guys just do that already?!”

Now he could hear a rustle of snickering from the audience, mixed with rather gleeful “Oohs” and “Uh-ohs”.

With a cackle, Miller smirked, stepping closer and explaining “Ahh, but there’s a difference between a tickling and a TRULY ticklish TORTURE – the kind that’ll knock the wind from your sails and make ye shed the saltiest sea tears…” sliding his sword under the chestnut-haired one’s chin and cradling it gently. The taller older boy’s eyes went wide, before he returned to a glower.

Suddenly, the Captain pivoted, walking away, then again and walking back about halfway, eyes closed, a fist to his chin in thought. Many of the kids now crowded closer, looking genuinely concerned, uttering “Captain!” and “What’s wrong, Captain?”

“Well…” Dave began, “The thing of it is, I’m not quite sure as to just HOW we oughta be tickle-torturin’ him…”

Though excitedly waving hands went up immediately thereafter like a class field trip, Townsend piped up with an “Ooh! WELL, we do have those goats we be transportin’ for Ms. Anne…”

“Ahh, that’s a good one!” Captain Miller mused, opening his eyes halfway in a sly glance.

“AND of course, we got all those stowaway cats we be keepin’ to keep away all the bilge rats.”  
“Hmhm, the cats’d do, too.”  
“OR we even have that machine we took from the natives last time we seen shore!”  
“Aye, that’ll certainly drive a land-lovin’ car-drivin’ lad mad!”

Stone still, red-faced, eyes wide, teeth bared in a sardonic grinning grit, Speed had the same kind of terrified shocked look he had when he’d first heard about the endoskeleton’s more sinister features.

“SO, which’ll it be, me hearty seakits?” Dave asked, spreading his arms as he turned to them – and essentially the audience. “A lickin’ from our Lady’s goats? Our rat-catching band ‘a cats? OR should we see just why those natives spoke so revered-ly and feared-ly of that device they hid?”

Though some specific shouts arose from the kids and the crowd, most just cheered for the choices. The first idea seemed to be the most popular, by that measure.

“Heheh, sounds like those goats it is!” the First Mate announced with a sneering grin.

“Aye, then do bring ‘em out, First Mate Drownsem!”  
“At once, Cap’n Sternoff!”

At this point, Racer figured he might as well play to the crowd, fully voicing his thoughts – with only a slight dramatic flair of his own; and another head flail. “NOhoho! I’m too ticklish, I’ll DIE!”

More amused murmuring from the crowd before ‘Drownsem’ led out two pygmy does with fluffy coats that trotted across the stage making cute tiny bleats that got the crowd and junior pirates cooing. The chestnut-haired one found himself making almost matching whimpers as the things came closer to his soles. When they started lapping, however, he realized from the touch that for as real as they looked, the things were as fake as any electronic animal in a theme park. Perhaps because real saliva would stain his stilts? Or in a twist, the man actually cared enough about real animals enough to not keep them captive like this, like him and the others? Like a complete psycho?

However, somehow, ‘Sternoff’ had perfected the real maddening brush-like feel of a thousand tiny cilia with delicately smooth enough rubber, enough to get him bucking and squirming, head back with jaws popped. “YAAHAHAHAA! HAHAHAHA! NOHO MAHAKE THEM STAHAHAAAP! HAHAHAHA!”

More satisfied snickering and cackling from Captain, crew, and attentive audience. Again, however, Miller paced, feigning a frown. Over Speed’s screaming guffaws, his First Mate asked “NOW what be botherin’ ya, Cap’n, me Cap’n?”

“Well, his feet are mightly ticklish, and we got him right laughin’ and squirmin’ and beggin’ now, sure…but it wouldn’t be the TRUEST tickliest torture of the Ocean Terror unless of course we were to find his tickle spot!” with another glance, Dave corrected “Well, his MOST ticklish of tickle spots, anyhow. Again, the one that’ll really knock the wind outta all his sails and set him sheddin’ the saltiest sea tears you ever saw!”

“Hmm, that DO be a problem…” Townsend said, now mimicking him with a glance aside. As the kids’ hands shot up again with vocalized waves, he turned to them, as if surprised, then resumed his wide grin. “Say, Cap’n?”

“Hmm?”  
“Might I suggest then…that we let our feisty young crew go searchin’ for Speed’s tickliest ‘a spots?”

“Ohh, let the youngins go explorin’, eh?” Miller said, as if not having considered it, “Why, that’s a right brilliant idea, Mr. Drownsem!”

The kids bounced, cheering, some already leaning out as if waiting for the chance to make a base run.

“All right, my right rowdy seakits!” ‘Sternoff’ said, “Go over there and give M’lady’s goats a hand and a hoof! Tickle that canivin’ car-driver until ye find his most ticklish ‘a tickle spots – X marks it, ‘a course!”

“WHAHAT?! NOHOHO!” their captive bellowed, “GEHET THEM OHOFF MEHEHEEE! HAHAHA!” He tried to lean out of their reach, but there were more than a dozen of them, like a horde of Spritles, climbing and crawling and poking and scritching at him from forehead to ankles. “GAHAHAHEHEHE! STAHAHAAP! AHAHALL OHOF YOUHOUHOU! STAHAAAP!”

Inevitably, all the rocking and tugging had already caused his shirt to roll up, inviting hands to slide over his stomach and sides and ribs, squeezing and spidering. Then there came a gasp as one of them glimpsed a corner of red, diving hands between Speed and the chair. Soon, the rest followed suit, enough pinned wiggling fingers getting him to arch what little he could – revealing the promised tall x rather artistically tattooed in marker across his back in red-outlined-in-black.

“NAIIIEEHEHEHE! NOHO! NOHAHA! NAHAT MY BACK! NAHAT THEHEEERE!” the chestnut-haired one yawped at his shrillest, voice finally petering out as his still-pounding stomach finally sent tears beading and trickling from his squeezed shut eyes.

Feigning wild surprise, the Captain let his jaw drop with a quiet gasp, then flung his arms out. “Ye DID IT! Ye little sea-worthy scallywags DONE it! Ye found the treasure ‘a the tickliest spot! And now this rascal Racerway won’t think but ONCE about messin’ with any of us on the Jezebel Anne! Arrrr!”

“Hehehe! They’re a smart bunch ‘a sea youngins, ain’t they Cap’n?” the First Mate mused, hands on his hips.

“That they be, Mr. Drownsem, that they be,” Miller echoed, pretending to wipe a tear from his own eye, then snatching up a small chest from behind him, hoisting it up. “For such a great act from such a clever and brave little crew: a gift chest ‘a vouchers and FREE PIZZA for everyone-‘a’-ye!”

The kids hopped, jumped, pumped fists, and ran in circles, whooping and hollering. The crowd “awwwed”, cheered and clapped. Now some of the gradeschoolers waved to their parents and siblings, and a few took a bow on the bow.

“But WAIT!” Dave said suddenly, turning to a still weakly laughing Racer. “We ain’t quite done with this free-wheelin’ ruffian yet…”

“True, we ain’t,” Townsend echoed, matter-of-factly.

“We need to finish ticklin’ him to the DEATH!” the Captain said dramatically, pausing, “Or at least to the unconscious. After all, dead men or those who ain’t awake can’t tell no tales, can they?”

With a chorus of “Mmhm!”s, the sprightly group returned to their hapless tickle victim, taking not only to his back again but also belly, ribs, armpits, knees, and anywhere else they could reach; aside from his feet and toes still at the mercy of the mechanical goats.

“AAHAaa! HahahaHAHA!” Speed laughed tiredly, face tear-streaked. “PleHEhease NO! I – I – ahahaHEHEhaha! AAAHAA!” finally, though still a bit overly-dramatically himself, his eyes rolled, tongue lolled, and he flopped to a still sprawl on the cushiony chair. A few of the kids blinked, giving him a few more pokes to make sure they hadn’t actually killed him. When he felt a few fingers comb soothingly slow through his hair, he couldn’t help a tiny smile – which put the rest of them at ease, scrambling away to collect their pirate-themed prize boxes and snatch up paper plates and as many slices of free pizza as they could carry.  
___

Racer stirred at the sound of clapping nearby, lids fluttering and opening to see a still-costumed Miller standing beside him, in a rare moment looking rather genuinely happy. “Bravo, BRA-VO! What a performance!”

“Mm, same to you,” the chestnut-haired one said, raising a brow, “What was all that about anyway? Where am I? Where is this? And what’s with all those kids?”

“My my, chatty little landlubber, aren’t we? Well, this is just another Speedster Raceway Enterprises venue, of course. Quite a ways away from the last one, so nobody comes snooping. And, well, since you canned your usual song-and-dance show, I had to improvise…” He now began idly circling the boy, glancing up in thought and down with his usual smirk. “As for the kids, well, I suppose you always WERE the favorite, anyhow – so now you’re not just the star, you’re the ONLY attraction! But you make a good enough one.”

“And the pirate ship nonsense?”  
“Oh, just a perfect setting to tickle you with, my dear Speed.”  
“So what now?”  
“Hmm? OH, you didn’t think this was just a one-off, did you? Oh – ohoho, NO! This is a SHOW, THE show, and you remember how your showtimes work, don’t you?”  
“S-Sh-Showtimes?! As in…all that…again? More than once? Every week?!”  
“Oh, good, you DO remember.”  
“B-But you and your, uh, crew, already defeated me! Or whatever! So how are you going to do all that all over again?”  
“With a different brigand of brats, of course! We allow every kid who applies to be in at least one show – with the promise they don’t spoil it for others, of course. Maybe two or three if they’re very good little actors – and very, very good little ticklers! …hmhmm, but then again, you’re so extremely and adorably ticklish, it doesn’t take much. Not much at all!”

Speed blinked, brows convex in thought, letting his sweat bead, heart pounding almost as much as it had on stage at the last World Sportscar Championship, trying to look away and willing himself desperately to apparate to the spot he pinned his eyes to.

Dave chuckled, jabbing “Why, you’re so flattered, you’re speechless, mm?”

Racer couldn’t help turning with another pout-bearing glower. Though he had no quips left, not even a confident enough indignant snort.

“Ohh, it just EATS you up inside still, doesn’t it?” Dave pressed, now circling in the opposite direction, leaning down as he did so, voice a little deeper in his taunting. “After so many harrowing adventures and saving the day and the girl…s…and racing to the finish in your cool spy-style gadget-y car…now tied up and tickled to shrieky little girly tears is QUITE the downshift. OH yes…”

“It’s…not that!” the chestnut-haired one blurted.

“Oh? What IS it, then?”  
“I don’t MIND being tickled – by my family, and my friends! Even my annoying brothers! …but not by…some crazy, creepy stranger and a bunch of snot-nosed kids I don’t know!”  
“So, you’re agreeing with me. Fantastic!”

Speed’s eyes widened briefly, jaw dropping – before he winced, teeth gritted with a growl, then opening his eyes halfway, giving ‘the Captain’ a fatigued stare and a breathy gravelly sigh.

“Ahoy, Cap’n!” an also-still-costumed Townsend bid cheerfully, bounding in, then also smirking at their captive. “Shall I put this Shark Bait through the wringer, now? Er, the Washer, that is?”

The chestnut-haired one jumped “What? NO! Not the wash so soon! I NEED more rest!” and let his head hang, feeling the pang of more tears already. “I CAN’T laugh anymore!” he protested, channeling his younger brother a bit.

“Aye, but ye not be needin’ to!” Miller said, taking his ‘First Mate’s cue. “The next’s show’s not ‘til tomorrow mornin’. And ye can sleep once you’re all scrubbed up clean.” He turned to the intern, nodding “Take him down to wash up nice and thorough, make sure to use an extra soap drip or three! Then once he’s sparklin’ like brand newly found treasure, put him in our, erm, brig to nap it off. Just don’t forget to fetch him come the dawn crew!”

“AYE, SIR!” Townsend acknowledged with a salute, clicking a switch to release the chair straps. “C’mon, lubbie, surely ye don’t want to sit there soakin’ in your own chilly sweat all night. You’ll just love a nice warm scrubdown. Hahaha!”

Speed only groaned lightly, letting the other boy pick him up and carry him, still as winded as three masts’ worth of sails in a storm, and too mind and body stressed to resist.


	13. Chapter 13

The mechanical cats turned out to be worse than the mechanical goats, but ‘the device’ was the worst of all; looking something like a turn of the century hand-crank washing machine, but studded in bristles, with an extra crank for extra rollers and tiny toe-trapping spinners. Naturally the thing became most popular, if only because it required two kids to help turn the handles. Usually ecstatic to be picked, they would start at full tilt, then taper off, sometimes pause before resuming a slower steadier pace. Any-which-way, because of how unbearable the brushes were at any rotation, they often nearly got ahead of the script, pushing the chestnut-haired one to silent laughter and tears before the ultimate tickle spot hunt.

Another initially improvised moment that became a reoccurrence was once one crew had found the x that marked the most ticklish spot, they wanted to tickle it more – but didn’t like having to dig for it with the restraining chair. So Dave had his intern and protégé-in-crime tug off Racer’s shirt and drag him to what looked like a whipping post, binding his hands to it, then handing the kids off what he proudly called the ‘Cut-o’-Ten-Quail-Feathers’ for them to give the older taller boy ‘fifty swishes’. The ten plumes were arranged in pairs of two, spread and slightly bent at the tips like a big feathery hand that scritched more squeals and squeaks out of an already spent Speed.

After a few weeks, the pirate ship was remodeled into a spaceship – but the show’s plot remained the same, with the chestnut-haired one as a stowaway and/or spy needing punishment. The three options also altered to fit the theme: licking by the Gragglax, a furry green alien beastie with two heads and four tongues; a bright pink ‘tickle beam’, just a projected light while ‘USS Avis Captain Rob Tyrian Sweet’ secretly set everything below his ankles to maximum frequency; and a likewise dreaded pair of ‘tickle boots’, which looked much like NASA Spacesuit Shoes painted with some red dots and lines to look techy – and much like the third option aboard the high stress seas, were lined with rapid spinning bristles that engulfed his feet in unbearable tingles.

“NO, PLEHEASE! NOT the BOOTS! NOT THE TICKLE BOOTS!” Racer begged in earnest, getting a chorus of derisive chuckles from audience and participants as he squirmed, hanging by his wrists in a much more space-agey containment chamber, trying to look away as two ‘cadets’ approached him, sliding and clamping the dreaded things on, and pressing the buttons to start them. “BAHAHAHA! AAAHAHAHAHAHA! TAHAKE THEM OHOFF! TAHAHAKE THEM OHOHOHOOOFF!” he’d howl, slamming the heels and stamping the soles in a desperate attempt to even just interrupt the sensation for a second or two.

“Captain,” ‘First Officer Neuou’Tdn’ spoke up calmly, “Perhaps my Messier 83-Chi will be of more use in disciplining our captive without causing such destructive reflexive movements. Shall I?”

His deadpan delivery got more amused laughs out of the audience than the kids, though they were still grinning as their resident alien shipmate walked around behind the chestnut-haired one – who hung, panting to catch his breath when Captain Rob authorized “Proceed. And cadets, turn off those boots for just a moment.”

Speed glanced back, tensing with a wide-eyed “Ohh…oh!” He twitched quite vigorously when the intern made several strategic prods to his back, lips twitching into a helpless grin – then jutting his whole frame out in an arch as the ship captain discreetly set his whole back tingling. His eyes bulged wide before shutting as tightly as he could squeeze them. “AIEEHEHEHE! NOHOHOOOO! NAHAT THE BAHACK! PLEHEHEEEEASE! I’LL DO ANYHEHEHEHEE! AHANTHIHIHING! JUHUST MAKE IT STAHAAAP!”

“Excellent work, Mister Neuou’Tdn,” Captain Sweet said with a nod. “And if that’s true, you slimy sneak-aboard, then I’ve got a proposal for you. And maybe next time you’ll think before trying to barge onto my bridge like that!”

Eventually the much beloved homage to the soon-to-end sci-fi show phased out after a last shift to an alien civilization on an alien world; then a back-to-Earth tribal jungle; then a dive into a Jules Verne-inspired subterranean motif. Most awkwardly, even, a car-garage-themed set – before a return to the Jezebel Anne, the natives’ ‘torture machine’ and the ‘swishing post’.

“NAHAT THE _FUZZY-WUZZIES_! …NOOHO, NOT THE _TICKLE IVY_! …NOT THE BUHUBBLING _BOHOG_! NONONO, NAHAT THE _CAR_ WAHASH! …NO NOHO NONONO, _NOHOO_! NAHAT THAT _THING_! NOT _AGAIIIN_ , NOOOHO!” Some days it started out more dramatic of a beg than others – some days it was as honest as he’d ever been. He wondered if the audience could tell the difference, or if they cared. He quickly realized none of it mattered because his cries and pleas were moot and all anybody inches from his face or a mile off in the back row wanted to see and hear was his giggling and guffawing, crying and squeaking, squealing and sniveling, and yowling with laughter.

Speed blinked hazily at the wall of the mockup brig, a sort of locked up lean-to, in which he’d had been given a meager blanket and pillow – not in any sort of merciful gesture, but simply to prevent some stiffness and pain and off-centered servos that would of course interfere with his daily tickle-torture sessions. With a sigh, he let his overtired eyes close, struggling to piece together a picture of his girlfriend and family in the swirling shreds of his broken-many-times-over mind as sleep finally came to take him away from his miserable reality for a few hours.

“Heh…I wonder what Trixie and Spritle are up to right now…goodnight everybody…I miss you…I love you…all…”  
___

In the weeks since their last attempt at a rescue, said girlfriend and little brother – now as well as family mechanic plus grieving-but-still-grizzled patriarch – had been poring over the massive pile of media that the boy and chimp in beanies had managed to abscond with – mostly cassette tapes and personal notes, aside from the reel-to-reel recording.

The deep stern voice the overall-clad pair had first heard in the small office apparently belonged to a ‘Henry A.’ – who had gone by a few pseudonyms in his career. Very early on – exactly forty years ago, eerily enough – he had taken a different surname when co-founding an animation company with a fellow artist and, the way it sounded, quite egotistic ‘visionary’. Only one year later, however, their partnership seemed to have dissolved, and Henry went far away – not only in literal distance, but field of employment and expertise, acquiring a B.S.E.E. from Caltech on top of his B.F.A. from Pratt. He married a woman named Lisa Emily – despite no apparent divorce or separation from previous wife Linda Niedźwiecki – and had a daughter named Charlotte.

The last he had been seen was oddly enough heading right back to his old co-founded art studio in Brooklyn. Something about hoping to make amends with his old partner. After that, he’d dropped off the map, the radar, and the face of the Earth. Or so it seemed. All that was left of him were his tapes – which as there was a copy of his speech on the Honeytone, were likely copied from his original speeches there. For preservation it seemed, if not posterity. He mentioned his daughter only in his last tape, marked ‘PLAYBACK FINAL TRANS. PS’.

“I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest. For you; and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us.”

It seemed like a suicide and possibly mercy mass homicide note – but it had been recorded far in advance of even the man’s willful disappearance. And no body or bodies had been found relating to him or anyone he knew. Just a dark audio journal entry then, perhaps?

“Maybe…” Trixie began, eyes still hazed over. “Maybe if we could find this Henry, he could help us find that monster and Speed. And help us end all this too, don’t you think?” Her eyes cleared as she looked up, shining brilliantly.

“Maybe,” Sparky echoed, shuffling through some more papers. “It’s quite a ways away, but since we don’t have any idea where Speed is now, either, it’s a goose chase no matter which direction we go. It’s as good as any, I guess.”

“Speed would go to the ends of the Earth to find any of us!” the smallest Racer popped up noting, “So we should do the same for him! It’s only right.”

“Hmm…that’s very true, Spritle,” his father noted, though still with eyes closed and arms crossed firmly in thought.

“THANK you, Pops! So can we go already? Huh?”

“You’re leaving again?” his mother ventured, entering with a tray of more refilled drinks. “Did you find anything? Any clues about where Speed might be?” She quickly set said tray down before dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes.

Her husband looked at her, in a rare moment, brows briefly convex. “Well, not exactly – but we think we might’ve found someone who knows the guy who took him and where HE might be!”

“Oh! Well, that’s certainly something, isn’t it?” the woman said, actually smiling. “Are you going tonight?”

“Well, if it’s gonna be a trip, we all oughta probably get a good night’s sleep and leave tomorrow,” the mechanic said.

“Yeah, but you know Speed would head right out the MOMENT he thought we needed his help, sleep or NOT!” Spritle protested, getting vocal nods from the chimp.

“Right, but you know Speed would want US to get enough sleep so we could all be clear-headed when we head out to try and find him! If we’re all tired and foggy, we could mess up and be worse off, right?”

The boy in the beanie blinked, silent for a moment before sitting with a folded-arm pout “I guess you’re right…” turning his head with a snort. “Even if I don’t like it!”

Everyone weakly chuckled, Pops even faintly smiling. “Mm, mmhm, then it’s settled. We’ll all try and get some sleep and head out first thing in the morning.” Standing up, he bid “Goodnight, everyone! I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, dear,” his wife echoed, giving him a hug and a kiss.

“Come on, Spritle, I’ll tuck you in,” the brunette offered, rising and heading for the hall – grabbing her glass as she passed Mrs. Racer with a “Thank you so much!”

“Anytime, dear,” the woman of the house said with a smile, then bent down to give her youngest a smooch on the head “Goodnight, my sweet boy! Pleasant dreams.”

“They will be – of us rescuing Speed and kicking that bad guy’s butt!” the boy said, turning to give a demonstrative kick before Trixie gave him another tug around the corner. His mother chuckled with a sigh.

“Night, Mrs. R!” Sparky said with a wave, “Thanks again for the drinks!”

“Anytime, Sparky!” she echoed. “I’m glad you liked them.”

Before any of them finally set heads to pillows, however, they each darted off to finish packing the car – the Mach Five, of course. Pops slapped a stack of maps on the dash, the top with their destination scrawled in big black pen capitals: 223 BROADWAY, BROOKLYN, NY 1121  
___

Come fall, most of the kids were back in school, so the show went on a hiatus. In the meantime, however, the chestnut-haired one was still a decently popular attraction and was given an interactive post. Standing in a stilt-locked spread-limbed pose with a face that said ‘Welcome!’ and ‘Look at me, huh?’ Of course, this was intentionally to invite the usual interactivity – as a few signs put up around him made abundantly clear.

The feathers and brushes as mentioned were provided in boxes like napkins and straws at a fast food restaurant; the earplugs were in a smaller clear plastic box on top, lightly shrink wrapped in pairs. Most of the ten-and-under visiting crowd ignored them, scrambling to snatch up the tickle tools and begin their prodding and tracing and flitting. Naturally, they defied the disclaimer-tagged cautioning and went at Speed’s toes, sides, and the small of his back with the brush tips like a group art project.

“NAHAHA! NOHO NOHO NONOOOHOHONO! CAHAN’T YOU GUHUYS REHEAHEHEEAD!?” the ‘animatronic’ yelped, leaning his head back with a flail before momentarily pinning chin to chest, grinning helplessly, mouth corners twitching. “GAHAHAIIEEHE! HEHEHEHAHAHAA!”

“NOPE!” one five-year old proudly shouted back.

“I can’t even spell my name!” a three-year old chimed, standing on tiptoe to prod the tapered paintbrush handle into the much taller older boy’s navel – making him giggle and squeak not unlike a noisemaking toddler’s toy.

“YEHEE! HAHA! EHEHE! WIHILL YOU STAHAP IHIHIHIT?!”

“SO lifelike!” one of the chaperoning mothers mused, watching. Glimpsing the man in her periphery, she turned – smiling at the sight of Mr. Miller himself. “How do you do it?” she asked, glancing at the guffawing red-faced Speed again. “Is it anything like what that Piedmont fellow does at his park in Cali?”

“Oh that? Oh – ohh, nonono, madam. While I’ll admit, his work is certainly impressive, mine is…FAR more advanced and complex. And proprietary as much, I’m afraid,” Dave said, though he also smiled quite widely.

“Oh, well, a good magician never reveals his secrets!” the mom of two joked, chuckling. “My kids just love Speed. They really liked Snake and Janet, too. I’m so sorry to hear they were stolen. I hope you can find them soon.”

With a long sigh, a slow brief head tilt and shoulder shrug, Miller said “Well, unfortunately, it seems they were sold off or scrapped for parts or something dreadful like that – but then, in a way, it’s flattering to know that people admire your work just so much they’ll go out of their way to steal it.”

“That’s true,” the woman said. “Well, again, my family and I really love your work and your restaurant! We’re so glad to have it here in town.”

“And I’m absolutely delighted to have you and your wonderful little munchkins, madam!” the man said with a beaming grin. Making a more typical smirk, he glanced at Racer, bidding “Hmm, won’t you give Speedster a little tickle, too?”

“Ha, I think the kids are doing a pretty good job of that.”  
“Oh, but he just LOVES to be tickled! He was MADE for it, you know…”  
“WELL…I suppose. And I think it’s just great to have that, a machine or a doll they can tickle to death that doesn’t stress and wear out like a person. And such a cute one, too!”

“HmHMHMhm…yes, of course.” Dave cleared his throat quickly but emphatically. “Though, Speed is a bit…twitchy in that regard lately.” He shook his head, eyes closed for effect, and tsk-tsk-tsked. “I think it’s just his…processors getting a little tangled. After all, he’s meant to react like a real person, and…sometimes he gets…confused, I suppose.”

“AHAHEHE! I AHAM a reHEal pers –!” the chestnut-haired one tried to insist – getting a quick, discreet, but merciless side squeezing from his captor for it. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAYAHAHAHA! STAHAHAP IHIHIT!”

“Aww, of course you are, sweetie!” the mother of two cooed, giving his pompadour a gentle pat-pat-pat. Prying out a feather she’d plucked from the dispenser earlier, she fluffed his cheeks, chin, and nose. “Kitchy-kitchy-kitchyyy!”

“GgghhaaeeHE!” Speed snort-giggled, flinching “Hehe – ha – ha~aah~ ah~ HA’CHH’! …gmmmm…” and sniffling with drooping lids.

“ _Nazdravlje_ ,” Miller bid.

“Oh, and he sneezes too, so cute!” the woman mused.

“Ew, gross,” the five-year old said.

“Jacob, shush!” she hissed, then looked back at Dave, beaming. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of Piedmont’s move-‘em-a-tronics do that, either!”

“Wellll…Bertrum prefers to ride the curve,” Miller noted casually with another slight shrug, “I prefer to stay ahead of it. But he is a good man of hard work and…plenty of ambition, anyway.”

“Of course. Now, come on, boys, let’s go get some pizza!” the woman said, heading for the far food counter and game corner. ‘Please’ certainly wasn’t the only magic word beginning with a ‘p’, as the two immediately pocketed their brushes and ran off alongside her.

“PIZZAAA!”  
“PIZZAPIZZAPIZZA!”  
“I LOVE YOU, MOM!”  
“YOU’RE THE BEST!”  
“Ahh…love you too, sweethearts.”

_“Pizza, huh? Well, I haven’t had that in a long time. Good job, you two!”_  
_“Hooray! Let’s go! Pizzapizzapizzapizza!”_  
_“Hey, slow down!”_

Racer’s vision blurred heavily, lids and lips twitching as he flinched, tears dripping steadily, taking more small quick gasps – but then simply sobbed, letting out a wail like a kid barely Spritle’s age. He opened his eyes to a squint, sniffling, then closed them and uttered a typical following disyllabic minor key snivel. His head shook enough to lightly wobble the rest of him.

“I want my brohother baaaahack…!” he whined plainly, “I wanna see Sprihitle…I miss Rex, I wanna seehe Reheheeeex…I wanna GO HOME! I – Idon’twannadothisanymore IWANNAGOHOHOME~!”

Naturally, the ‘malfunctioning animatronic’ turned several heads, even for as far as the eating and gaming area was from the entrance where he was posted. The pizzeria owner came sprinting, skidding to a stop a bit breathless, mumbling “Thank goodness for disclaimers…” though spoke up anyway, “Please excuse the mess, everyone!” he projected his words like a showman, arms and flat palms out. “This was bound to happen sometime this week. Fret not, I’ll have him out and up and fixed in no time! Please bear with me and I apologize for the interruption.”

“Aww, he’s broken!” griped an incoming small girl with her father. If she’d only known.

“Mom, why’s Speed crying like that?” Jacob asked, watching as Dave and a couple of the day techs disconnected him from the platform and carried him off into a set of double-swinging ‘Employees Only’ doors.

“Well, something probably just clicked wrong, that’s all,” the woman assured, then smirking despite herself, “Orrrr…he’s probably heard a lot of whining and crying from a lot of naughty kids and decided to play that back.”

Her boys looked sheepish, saying nothing and returning to their pizza slices and straw-plugged sodas.  
___

Lying on another cold metal table in the back under a now-and-again flickering fluorescent, the chestnut-haired one kept his head turned, lying on his jaw with eyes closed, facing the inner wall and mumbled with a few squeaks but stayed mostly silent.

“Speed,” Dave began, standing over him on the doorward side, looking down with a faint smile and the aura of a coaxing parent, “Speed…look at me…”

“No!” the boy snipped, lips in a mild pout.

“Look at me…” Miller repeated.

“Mm.”

Then Racer heard the remote’s click and felt his neck forcibly turning – fighting it what he could, but soon looked up into his captor’s eyes. Strangely, the man only continued his calm smile, saying quietly “Do you feel better now?”

Blinking, his question again caught Speed off guard. Eyes darting for a moment, he professed “Well…yeah, I guess a little…” Tears and phlegm and quavering howls were the way the human body as its own fragile fleshy machine dumped its excess stress. And as embarrassing or uncouth as it was sometimes seen, especially in public, it was still surprisingly effective. Lying there now, even still broken in several pieces on a mental and emotional level like a flaming car wreck post movie-reel-worthy cliff dive, he found himself also oddly pacified. No fear or strain, and even the flat hard table felt a bit nicer. He let his eyes close. “Mm…can I nap a little? I’m tired.”

“You’re probably hungry,” Dave noted, checking his watch, “I did feed you much earlier this morning.”

“Not hungry…” the chestnut-haired one reiterated with lips pursed again, closing his eyes and turning his head again. Though Miller didn’t push any buttons, he gave him a bit of a sharper tug to a sit, having one of the techs walk around and prevent him from flopping back down. He opened an eye, watching Dave prepare a gel pack across from him, smirking a bit with full intent to spit up.

However, the man must have figured this if he wasn’t somehow already reading his mind again, as he turned around with a long tube attached to the mouth of it, threading it through Speed’s nostril – the other tech pinning his head in place with both hands. The boy felt the glop pump through and slide down the back of his throat. Considering its usual consistency and wretched taste, it felt much more tolerable gulping it down this way and he just about literally inhaled it. His otherwise empty gurgling stomach pounced on the first digestible thing it had seen in half-a-day and quickly threw up a briny belch – that satisfied Racer to let in his captor’s less-than-suspecting face.

With a flinch of his own and a quick bat of his hand, Miller took a step back, chuckling. “How do you feel now?”

Before he could stop himself, Speed admitted “Better,” with a genuine sigh, letting his eyes close again.

“Excellent! Now I’m going to put you back on your post, but if it’s a slow night, I’ll take you in a bit early. You can sleep then. Is that clear?”

“Yessir. Thank you.”

Dave only nodded, resuming his general satisfied grin, giving the boy’s head a pat-pat before pivoting and walking out, the techs hoisting the ‘animatronic’ up and following as quickly as they could.

Somewhen between lunch hour and early dinner, a handful of girls came in. Approaching, the eponymous attraction, the one at the front smiled up. “Cool!”

“Hi, welcome to Speed Racer…way’s Pizza!” he bid with a polite smile of his own. “What’s your name?”

“Jenny!” she said with an excited bounce. “Today’s my birthday!”

“Ohh, Happy Birthday! How old are you now?”

“Nine!” she said.

“Wow, congrats!”  
“Thanks!”  
“Are these your friends?”  
“Mmhm!”  
“Heheh. hi, everybody!”

The partygoers all giggled and waved vigorously with overlapping “Hi!”s and “Hello!”s

“Hey, um, Speed…” Jenny began, “Do you…do you really like being tickled?”

With a self-deprecating monosyllabic chuckle, the chestnut-haired one glanced around at the display signs, saying with albeit convex brows over a fairly wide grin “Well, what do you think? Hmhm…” He paused. “How about you?”

“Yay!” she cheered at his first answer, replying “Well, sometimes…” She and her literal party then all plucked feathers from the dispenser, waving and twirling them idly before closing in, some double-checking the color-coded display board like a classroom chart before chalking an equation up on the board and flitting, tracing, and sweeping the things over his feet – the easiest go-to spot with a crouch – and belly and sides beneath his left-untucked shirt.

“AaahaYAhahehehe!” Racer giggled, craning his head back, eyes wide for a moment before another helpless flinch and goofy tickled grin. “AhaHAHAhahahaha!” Brain jarred by tingles, he blurted “HaHAhaha! I’d rather be sihigning autographs!” reminded of other times surrounded by girls both their age and some closer to Trixie’s.

The group then paused expectantly, both he and they staring awkwardly and looking miffed when they realized he couldn’t quite do that. Then one of Jenny’s friends said “We could sign our names for you, though!”

“Oh, heh, sure! It’s always nice to learn names,” Speed said, before he quickly realized what that meant, as they all turned the quills around and began tracing strings of letters in various spots. Several on his pants, likely because they were white enough to remind them of paper. “AHAhahaha! Rahachel, that’s a prehetty name!” he said, twitching, “Denise, HEhehey!” he looked down as the latter leaned on his outer thigh, tracing all-too-good cursive on his inner. “YaiiieHEhe! Youhou hahave reHEHEally nihice hahandwritiHIg!”

“Thank you!” she said, withdrawing and looking quite proud of herself.

“Nihice to meeHEHEheet you, toohoo, Barbahara, KiHImberlyHEheheHE!” His eyes widened again when another of them scrawled hers below his back pocket. “J-JaHAhaqueliHIhiHIne iHIs a HAHAhaha! ReheHEally laHAHA! Lohong nahame!” he struggled to say as the second grader even repeatedly ‘scratched out’ and ‘redrew’ letters out of habit. He sighed, lids drooping as they finally all withdrew.

“Bye, Speed!” they all overlapped, darting off.

“Bye, girls!” he bid, glancing down as he wished he could scratch the light tickle that had turned into an itch on his shin. With a sigh, he gave his head a shake and lifted his gaze to the main doors – in time to see a sizeable boys’ soccer team pile out of a school bus. One eye twitched as both widened, teeth baring in an anxious grit. “Ohhhohoho noooohohoho…!” he muttered to himself before composing himself like a cashier and bidding “Hi! Welcome to Speedster Raceway’s Pizza! You boys ready for a great race today?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry's final tape speech:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ocbAfuNRQ1c&t=0m48s
> 
> "That Piedmont fellow":  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiugAJsUHMc&t=0m59s
> 
> → Yep, another crossover officially joins the fray! (☆▽☆) ＼(^ω^＼) ←
> 
> The word Miller utters after Speed sneezes is the Serbian version of ' _gesundheit_ '. And Serbian because thematic reasons: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Serbian_Film
> 
> Team Racer's Brooklyn destination: https://goo.gl/maps/rjuZUVqUE7EjokZTA (gray building on the right behind the Uhaul)


	14. Chapter 14

223 Broadway, Brooklyn turned out to be what indeed looked to be an abandoned warehouse that was technically just big enough to have been a studio at one time. Parking the Mach Five just outside, Pops, Sparky, Trixie, Spritle and Chim-Chim all hopped out, giving the place a few wary glances before entering.

There was already some subtle decay along the walls just inside, and the first visible shut-to door and stairs leading down from it. At the bottom, there was a hall blocked by several planks that looked funnily enough more haphazardly shoved in than fallen in. With the family patriarch pushing most of them aside, even punching a few, the group then saw the dead end not a foot in front of them – though marked with a tilted nailed-to-the-wall sign with the old vague standby ‘ **DANGER** KEEP OUT’ 

“Well, that for sure means we’re going the right way then!” the small boy in the beanie announced, he and the chimp attempting to pry open the visible trap door on the floor with several grunts and groans.

“Let us help you with that!” the mechanic said, he and Trixie and finally again Pops bending down to grab it. With one last coordinated heave, the door flung up on its hinges with a slam – revealing more stairs, now down a much narrower hallway. Another turn down a longer slant of steps, and then a sight out of some kind of science-fiction horror movie.

When David Finkelstein and Charles Misner had first found the kink in Karl Schwarzschild’s metric and visualized the inescapability of a black hole, their minds’ eyes might have glimpsed the swirling shiny chillingly liquidy tunnel and off-white light at its end that the five of them now stared down.

“Ohh…” they nearly harmonized, eyes wide.

“Jeez, if this is where that Henry guy went, no WONDER nobody’s seen him in forever! If ANYbody went through this door I doubt they’d get out easy, if it all maybe…”

Again, Spritle happily chimed “So let’s go, come on, we gotta find him to get Speed back!” though Pops swiftly grabbed him and the great ape in overalls before either of them could get any closer to it. “HEY! Put us DOWN, Pops! Don’t you wanna get Speed back!?”

“Of COURSE, I do!” their father said firmly, “But we don’t know what’s in that…THING…and I’m not risking losing YOU too!”

“Hmmm…” the small boy uttered, pouting, but looking a bit more anxious as he eyed the surreal tunnel again.

“So whaddawe do, Pops?” the mechanic asked, looking at him.

“Well, Spritle’s right, though, ONE of us has to go in there and see if Mr. Henry’s in there and ask him about where that awful man went!” the brunette said, turning.

“I’LL go,” the patriarch said.

“But POPS! You might disappear too – and what do you think Speed’d think if we find him and you’re gone forever?” his son piped up.

”Well…” the man started, but trailed off with brows convex.

“I’LL go!” Trixie echoed, taking a step forward.

“But Trixie,” Sparky began, “this kinda thing isn’t really right for a –”

“What? A girl?!” the brunette countered, whirling around. “A woman who’s lost the only man she loves? Who’s seen him be tortured terribly for nothing more than any other time and came THIS close to getting him back only to lose him again?! WHO HAS NOTHING ELSE TO LOSE BUT A HEART THAT KEEPS BREAKING?!?”

Now even Pops looked outright sheepish, stepping back. The mechanic took two steps, raising flat palms, shoulders high. “Okay, OKAY! You can go, we believe ya!” then paused, giving his cap an adjusting tug down. “But then we still have the same problem – how do ANY of us get in there, get our guy, and get back with no guarantee of what’s in there and how to get outta there fast if it’s bad news? Or at all, for that matter?”

Trixie snorted, but frowned, admitting “You’re right. But…” Then looking at the boy in the yellow shirt, her mind sparked with a memory.

_“Speed, JUMP OUT! Let the Mach Five go!”_  
_“I CAN’T!”_  
_“JUMP, Speed! …OK, I’ll try to grab the car – NNGH! …Pull it up now! EASY…”_

“ROPE!” the brunette said suddenly, rather loudly, “We need rope! LOTS of rope!”

“Rope?” Sparky echoed with a headscratch.

“Exactly. I’ll tie one end around me and then when I go in, if I get in trouble or whenever I find Henry, you all can pull me out!”  
“But how will you be able to communicate with us from in there?”  
“Morse Code, of course! Don’t you know it?”  
“Of COURSE I know Morse, heh!”  
“Good, then it’s settled! Come on, we’ve got to get all the rope we can find! Who knows how big it is in there? It could be a whole other continent or something!”  
“Wowee, I HOPE not!”

Luckily, there was a hardware store about a half-hour away down on 193 7th that was surprised to get an order for “all the rope they had” but were pleased as punch to make the triple-digit sale. Back in the abandoned studio hallway to who-knew-where, Trixie double-knotted the cord of Manila rope around her waist, snugly but breatheably, then turned, smiling at the others, Sparky lastly who gripped the rope tightly at just enough of a length and give for her to enter the strange swirling tunnel but that would go taut too soon before anything out or in or wherever it led might attack her. Or so they reasoned.

“Good luck, Trixie!” Spritle cheered with a hop and wave, “You tell that Mister Henry to hurry up and get out here so he can help us find Speed!”

The brunette chuckled. “You know I will, I’ll give him a piece of my mind for sure! Thank you all so much.” Turning to face the tunnel, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, sighed, and sprang into a dash – reflexively flinching as she first brushed the viscous tunnel sides, the cold black glup seeming to not only stick but crawl a bit on her skin. She yelped but pressed on, not hearing the others jump and call out her name, the mechanic adjusting his grip on the rope, ready to yank her back.

However, despite the shock and slight wet unpleasantness – plus the sudden overpowering smell of ink – the determined girl forged through to the light at the end, which turned out to be a dimly lit wooden hall. It looked similar to the one leading to the trap door – but in here, wherever ‘here’ truly was, there was something about the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the air, the dim lighting. Something was so starkly different, so off, and yet, now she couldn’t place a single thing.

Feeling something sticky on her hands still, she lifted them to see that some of the ink in the tunnel continued to cling to her arms and hands, her left completely covered while the fingers of her right were still mostly clean. She tried to scrape at the ink on the top of her left hand with them, but no matter how hard and deep she dug, not only did it refuse to yield but what little she could tug on simply seeped back into its place.

Letting her arms drop with a snort and a clearing shake of her head, she raised her head, faced forward, and stalked down the poster-cluttered hall, past the somewhat ominous ‘WELCOME’ sign on the plank overhead and stepped into the much wider and tensely empty main room. It bore much more visible disrepair and not much more than that; a single projector noisily played nothing but a large round-edged rectangle of yellowy light on the far wall by a chair and a carboard cutout of a strange cartoony creature. There was a typical wooden box crate to the right by the wall and the company logo, which consisted of three carved film reels and a flat banner that read: JOEY DREW STUDIOS.

Trixie had wondered before why the studio didn’t also bear the name ‘Stein’ since it had clearly sounded as if he and Henry had founded it as a team. This seemed to cement that Drew was every bit as self-absorbed as the notes indicated. No wonder the latter had left and quit so soon. Still, if Henry had seen the writing on the wall so soon with Joey, why and how in the world had he let Miller string him along for so long in the same fashion? She couldn’t imagine what that monster could’ve done to twist his arm – but if it was anything like the cruelty he’d put her boyfriend through, perhaps it had worked just as well.

A gut feeling pulled her to the right of the sign, past a short directory to the ‘ART DEPARTMENT’, ‘INK MACHINE’, ‘THEATER, and ‘BREAK ROOM’. She kept going right, then a long ways left past the official overhead plank sign for the **INK MACHINE** and a posted schedule as well as yet another **DANGER** sign. Every further step, this place seemed like less of an art/animation studio and more of a secret weapons bunker. But the one man who could find the other who kept Speed from her _had_ to be here somewhere – and she’d strut across an active firing range to find him if it meant that.  
___

Back in makeshift storage, fast asleep, on his side with the blanket and his knuckles tucked tight to his chin, Speed slept with a smile on his face that only broadened as he mumbled deep in a dream.

The air was comfortably warm as he walked down the hallway to the kitchen, hearing the usual early dinnertime bustle. Smells of his mother’s cooking and baking grew stronger as he entered, stomach rumbling and croaking. He also heard and now saw Spritle and Chim-Chim dancing to the song on the radio in the family room.

_Come on baby, just close the door_  
_Come on baby, let's rock some more_  
_Come on baby, let the good times roll_  
_Roll all night long_  
_Feel so good_  
_When you're home_

Pops sat watching TV, talking with Rex who sat next to him on the couch. They looked up, smiling wide and chuckling as they saw the chestnut-haired one.

“Welcome home, Speed!” his father said. “Congratulations on your win, I knew you could do it! I’m so proud of you – even more than I usually am! Hahahaa…”

Echoing his chuckle with grin, the second eldest said “Aw, thanks, Pops! I’m glad.”

“We thought you might not make it, I was planning to eat your share,” his older brother joked with a wink.

Now their younger brother and chimp leapt up, clinging to the couch arm. “Hey, no way! You said we were gonna split it!”

“Well, I’m here now, so neither of you are getting it!” the chestnut-haired one said, smirking.

“Aww – well, then I’ll just have to get seconds! Hmph!”

The lot of them shared a hearty laugh, Pops rising and embracing the racing champ with a bear-squeeze and back-pat of a hug; followed by his oldest who swung an arm around Speed and gave him a thorough noogie before adding another hug.

“Is dinner about ready, dear?” the moustached one asked. His wife at the counter turned, smiling.

“Oh, yes! Trixie should be just about done on the grill. Everything else is ready,” the woman said. Looking at her second eldest, she chuckled, “Extra portions for my brave winning boy!”

Said boy clutched his belly as it made its loudest impatient burble yet. “Your cooking is always first place in my book, Mom – heh, and my stomach of course!”

“Well, that’s better than any ribbon or award in any magazine for me, then. I’m just happy you’re eating enough, Speed.” After setting the sides down on the table, she slid her arms around him pulling him in for yet another gentle but tight hug, peppering him with kisses on the cheeks, forehead, chin, and head before finally withdrawing. “I love you SO much and I’m SO proud of you when you’re competing but I miss you so terribly and I’m so glad you’re home and safe with us now.”

“Mohohohom…!” he chuckled, flinching though grinning wide.

Finally, the back door swung in, an even stronger hiff of perfectly seared meat sweeping in as Trixie carried the full stacked plate of done dogs and a pair of tongs. “Oh, there you are, Speed! Just in time! Well, everything’s nice and hot and ready, let’s eat!”

“Just in time is right, I’m starving!” her boyfriend professed, sliding down into his usual seat. Everyone began digging in but they let him take the lion’s share: hotdogs in toasted buns with ketchup, mustard, and relish; coleslaw, corn on the cobb, potato salad, green beans. Eyes sparkling, he just kept piling on until the foodstuffs on his plate looked almost like the mess of toys in Spritle’s room. He’d barely set it back down before biting nearly half a heavily covered hotdog in one chomp, chewing and swallowing and scooping up a forkful of beans and salad. He paused briefly for a few refreshing sips of icewater but went right back to gleefully pigging out.

“Hey, Speed, if you don’t leave any room for dessert, Chim-Chim n’ I’m gonna have to eat yours for you!” the boy in the beanie piped up some time later.

“Huh? Dessert too?” Speed said, blinking. He glanced down, putting a hand on his finally quieted stomach, giving it a pat and a light rub. It was already pretty full, but he certainly wasn’t going to skip out on sweets.

“Hey, what about me?” Rex joked.

“Mmm…if there’s any left when we’re done, you can have it,” Spritle declared with a sage vocal nod from the chimp that got everyone chuckling again.

Amidst his chortling, the chestnut-haired one’s hand shot up to mask a fairly large burp. _There, now plenty of room for dessert_ , he reasoned.

A slower song now played from the radio speakers as the second eldest leaned back in his chair, he and father and brother making small talk as the ladies tidied up the table and tableware.

_Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah_  
_Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah_  
_The river is deep and the river is wide, hallelujah_  
_Milk and honey on the other side, hallelujah_

Hearing the all-too familiar lift of a platter-sized plate and the crinkling of plastic wrap coming off of the edges, Speed twitched; face lighting up even before turning to see the giant pyramid of perfectly sugar-dusted fluffy cream-stuffed choux pastry puffs.

“I made your favorite, Speed,” his mother said sweetly. “I know you’ve been away for a long time and I thought you’d like them. I hope they’re as good as you remember!”

It was all her second eldest could do to keep from flat-out drooling. As soon as the platter plunked down on the table, he snatched up the crowning puff, popping it past his lips. It just about melted in his mouth, flooding his tongue with an indescribable wave of rich sweet butteriness that practically tied with that thrill of dashing across the finish line or kissing Trixie. He closed his eyes, reflexively letting out an “MMmmmMMmmmmmMMM~! They’re PERFECT, Mom! They always are, you’re the best!”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” he heard her say, chuckling – echoed by the others. 

Opening his eyes for just a moment he snatched up another, then another, and another, barely pausing for water. He just had to have more and more, mind flooding with only the happiest memories. Both celebrating good grades and school sports wins as well as cheering right up from losses and misses. For him, it was some of the purest happiness in sparkling yummy form. He could be dangling from a cliff in the Alps or a slowly snapping branch over a bottomless gorge; inches from a giant deadly sharp serrated blade or thousand-degree metal-melting laser; or _worst_ of all, in last place with engine trouble and only fumes of a gas tank left – but if he had even a single creampuff to nibble and nom on, absolutely none of it would matter.

Time had stopped for him, but it must have been at least several minutes since he heard his older brother jab “I haven’t seen you eat like Spritle in forever! Heheh, if you eat enough of those, you’re going to turn into one.”

Speed blinked, finally coming back out of his reverie. Licking the excess cream and crumbs from his lips and cheeks, he looked down to see his stomach bulging out over his pants hem. And the platter was down to its last row of puffs. He blushed a little with shoulders rising, seeing Rex’s smirk, and hearing more quiet chuckles from his parents and girlfriend. He couldn’t help giggling at seeing Spritle and Chim-Chim look surprised at his glomming.

“Too late!” the brunette noted, reaching over to give the chestnut-haired one’s now-potbelly a pat and a rub. “I don’t mind, though. They say you are what you eat, and Speed is such a sweetie!”

“That’s right!” his mother added, making him blush and giggle sheepishly more, clutching at his hair and neck.

“Come on, Cream-stuff Racer, let’s go sit on the couch and relax. I’ll give you a bellyrub if you want,” Trixie bid, taking his hands as she rose and tugging him to a stand.

“Ohhh, that sounds great, thanks, Trixie,” he said, “Mm…ahh, I can barely move though.”

“Hahaha! Well, if you can cross every chasm on the Alpine Course I think you can make it to the couch with no trouble, c’mon!”  
“I dunno, after all that great food, even that far might be just as dangerous. Hmhmheheheh!”

“You’re too sweet AND silly, you know that?” the brunette said. Just as they reached the edge of the cushions, as she turned to sit, she felt him not-so-accidentally stumble and topple down on top of her, though not even trying to hide a smirk of his own.

“Ohh, whoops!” he said with a wink, “Sorry, Trixie. Told you I’d crash. Guess we’re stuck like this for a while…”

“Ohhh, you!” she said, “Well, I guess you won’t be able to do anything about THIS, then!” and with another telling wiggle of her fingers, slid them around his full tummy, squeeze-squeeze-squeezing.

“AhahaHA! HehHEhey, noho fahair tickliHIng!” he laughed, pulling away and flopping back toward the other arm. “Ohhh…heh…”

“Hmhm, see? That’s why I’m on your team: I’m always good at getting you out of a tight spot!” Trixie said, throwing him back a wink. Leaning over, she patted his belly again, pushing up his shirt and rub-rubbing it slowly but firmly. “How’s that feel? Ha, it’s so soft and squishy for me right now. I love it…reminds me of my favorite stuffed bunny that I had as a little girl. He was as big as me and so and fluffy and huggable, I used to call him Mr. Carrotcake…” She glanced up in thought.

“Hey, you never told me about this guy!” Speed said, brows angled for a moment though he couldn’t help grinning. Trixie was already laughing again. “And I’ve never met him but I bet I could beat him in a race.” Looking into her eyes, he said “I’d race him and anybody over a THOUSAND more Alpine Courses for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Trixie said, continuing her massage, “he may have been my best friend when I was younger but you’re the only one I want to hug right now,” then laying her cheek down on the chestnut-haired one’s belly and sliding her arms around him, giving him a nuzzling squeeze. “So warm and soft…” she echoed, giving his bellybutton a smooch.

“Hmhmhm, thanks, Trixie…that feels great,” her boyfriend said, sighing and letting his lids droop closed. He slid his fingers to her hair, gently petting it and sliding his fingers through her curls in a gentle comb, hearing and feeling her hum and sigh happily, giving him another half-asleep snuggle.

Putting the freshly hand-washed platter dish back in the cupboard. Mrs. Racer walked out to check on her second eldest, seeing him fast asleep in his girlfriend’s arms on the couch, the biggest smile on his face. It was enough to get her eyes misting.

Spritle and Chim-Chim were tucked in bed fast asleep, Rex was reading a book at the table; her husband was taking care of some last-minute things in the garage. Her whole flock was all safe and happy together under one roof at long last. For the first time in months, she felt her heart warmly relax.

And then suddenly, she woke up with a start. Rising from the snooze she’d slumped into over the kitchen table she blinked, leaping to her feet and rushing to the doorway into the family room. But no Speed, no Trixie. Looking back, no Rex. No husband in the garage, and no youngest and chimp in their bedroom; their floor as clean as she’d left it.

Heart heavy and eyes wet once more, she dragged her feet on her way back to the kitchen, even clutching the doorframe with drooping lids and a frown. It couldn’t be – she was so sure she’d felt everyone there, as real as anything. That indescribable peace when she was so close to her older sons who stayed away far too long.

Suddenly, a breeze from the window made her flowers on the still sway, and blew a single sheet off of the top of the fridge. Walking over, she reached out, managing to catch it in both hands. Eyes hazing, she stared at it – a spirit duplicated recipe page.

_“Here, Speed! I made your favorite… I know you really wanted to win that race, but don’t feel bad. You will next time. Give me a hug, my brave sweet boy, and eat up.”_  
_“Thanks, Mom! You’re the best! I love you!”_  
_“I love you too.”_

Watching him scramble back to the table to eat, seeing his happy smile again. It filled her fuller than any French pastry shell. Now glancing out the window; then staring at the wax-dipped white roses Rex had sent her in a fresh bouquet for her birthday seven years ago, she found her smile – setting the page down alongside her mixing bowl, whisk, and measuring spoons. She fetched her flour sack and sifter and set a saucepan on the stove to boil the butter and shortening.

Cradling the three eggs as she plucked them from the carton in the fridge and carried them to the counter, setting them down, she said quietly “If I make these, Speed’ll just have to come back, won’t he? And Rex, and Spritle won’t miss any sweets…if I make them, they’ll come…they’ll all come back, I know it.”

Humming a tune to herself, she busied about the small kitchen as if dancing. Eyes hazing as she whisked together water, butter, flour, and salt, she whispered “These are for you, my sweet beautiful little champion…they’re waiting for you. We’re all waiting for you. Whenever you get here…take care, Speed. I love you…”

Eyes open but blurry, still somewhere between asleep and awake, swearing he smelled the sweet-savory hiff of butter and sugar and hearing the faint sound of his mother’s voice, the chestnut-haired one smiled, mumbling “I love you, too, Mom. Thank you… I’ll be home as soon as I can, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MY SR FANDOM SEMPAI NOTICED ME!_ ﾟ･✿ヾ╲(｡◕‿◕｡)╱✿･ﾟ And she and her amazingly awesome sweet friend inspired the _entire_ Speed-Mom Racer dream sequence. So infinite kudos and thanks to both of them, and I'm so glad you guys liked it too. ❤♡
> 
> The hall and the doorway into the studio:  
> https://bendy.fandom.com/wiki/Hidden_Hall
> 
> Songs on the radio:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uM9yYL6BD-4  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxdsCwIe7Ak
> 
> The actual source of the cream puff recipe page:  
> https://nicerecipes.wordpress.com/2007/12/30/custard-cream-puffs/
> 
> Definitely _NOT_ the song Mrs. Racer was singing ~(‾▿‾~) ♫ ♪ but totally her mood:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tRvHyB91pQ


	15. Chapter 15

After another not-too-long day of “Hi!”s and squeaks, Racer lay on the Washing Room table, wriggling in the HandUnit’s grip, snickers and chuckles hissing through gritted teeth as the myriad of finger-wiggling and brush-gripping hands moved across him; four with thicker cords and fewer digits keeping him pinned.

“I’ve had to recalibrate five times now,” the AI informed him, “Please try to keep centered for this cycle.”

“I caHAhan’t!” Speed snapped, “Ahahe’m ticklish and youHOU’re tickliHIng meHEhe!” With a pause for breath, he added “You’re juHust supposed to be gihiving me a bath and a massahage!”

“I am administering a full wash cycle and vibrations to lessen tension – it is no fault of my programming and execution that your meat brain still interprets it as ticklish, half-unit.”

The chestnut-haired one managed a brief glare at the slur. In September of 1960, scientists and science authors Nathan Kline and Manfred Clynes had co-written an article called _Cyborgs and Space_ , coining the former as a go-to term for a being that “deliberately incorporates exogenous components extending the self-regulatory control function of the organism in order to adapt it to new environments.” Granted, they had been talking about a man surviving in the ether of space, not one crammed with metal to sing and dance for children against his will.

Still, in essence, Speed was genuinely about half-machine. The AI wasn’t about to argue that. However, both he and the boy agreed that while the men’s theories and assertions were solid, the neologism just sounded silly. So thus, the latter was frequently at the end of the term ‘half-unit’ – or sometimes even just ‘half-u’; always delivered with just the right amount of sour undertone. ‘Half-broth’ was another one, the more pejorative of the two, when any tensions skewed closer to a genuine dispute and not the usual banter.

“HeHEy!” Racer protested again, “You knohow exaHActly how muhuch pressure you’re exherting and wheHEhere youHOU’re putting iHIt!” Giggling at another strategic sprinkle of liquid soap “Ahand NO MORE sohoap drips!”

Indulging in the rather human gesture of a long, fed-up sigh, the AI mused “It really is a vastly different, higher difficulty dynamic without the slosh-kid to distract you during these processes.”

For a moment, Speed glanced over where Townsend would’ve stood, leaned, or lazily sat, spouting his quips or distractedly slacking some other way. The chestnut-haired one shook his head, “I was really happy for him when he said he found a real job with real pay – but I TOLD him he’d get arrested if he tried that! …not to mention it was just a pretty awful thing to want to do, anyway.”

“Well, if SRE operations continue successfully, at minimum, he should return to oversee your cleanings sometime around October 1994.”  
“Somehow I don’t think he’ll impress a parole board.”  
“I concur.”

Suddenly, all the hands but two withdrew, those around the boy’s ankles hoisting him up quite high. Yet another snaked out, the fingers of these poking, prodding, and pulling at his toes – making him jump and sway in his squirming. “NoHOhohonono! Youhou leave those aloHOne!”

“So these are human ‘digits’…” the AI expressed at a lower volume. “Is it true that they used to perform basic math with the aid of feet as well as hands?”

With a twitch and a grinning flinch, Racer cried “DON’T count on my toes!”

“Why not? They seem perfectly reliable in terms of such a function.”  
“Ohoho NOW you understand idioms!”

_“Ahaha! AHAHE cahan’t STAHAND IHIT!”_  
_“You are not standing in any capacity.”_  
_“YouHOUhou KNOW whahat I MEhean! I CAHAn’t taHAke it!”_  
_“You are not transporting anything, nor ingesting or imbibing any medicine – nor are you required to.”_  
_“NoHOho, I mehean it’s TOOhoo MUHUCH!”_  
_“Error: parameters too wide. If you are referring to your vitals, I assure you, they’re currently fully stable.”_  
_“GAAHAHAHAHA!”_

“What is that song or chant that is most often done with such fingerplay? Or toeplay, rather.” 

“NO! No more baby babble! That stupid bunny was ENOUGH!” the chestnut-haired one insisted, eyes widening briefly before his brows angled, making a deliberate wide swing, trying to grab at the three-pronged hands around his ankles. 

“No to the traditional verse, then? You’d rather I use an original composition? All right then…” With another indulgently human gesture of throat clearing, the AI began “ _This little phalanx…quite crucial for balance, movement and_ –” tweaking Speed’s left pinky toe. 

“NaHAhaha! NOOHO!” Racer protested with a flail, again struggling to pull himself up and grab away the smaller hand. “NO NONSENSE, NO SINGING!” 

“You’d rather I just tickle you without commentary? That is an option –” the smaller hand and another at his right foot now swiftly wiggle-raking under and worming between his toes, as well as spidering across the rest of his feet, tracing and drumming the stilt edges “– though a rather boring one.”

“YAHAIEEHEHAHA!” Speed yelped at the abrupt onslaught, flailing and twisting more before the other two limb-steadying arms reappeared, once again clutching at his wrists. “LeHEHEt me goHOhoHO!” Pausing to let his head hang, the sight of the table and floor below him momentarily blurred in a flash of an eye haze. “OhoHOr at least puhut me down! …I’m…gehetting dizzyhe…” 

“Then all the more reason to continue encouraging normal blood flow via nerve stimulation.”  
“HAHANDLER!”

This nickname, unlike the brash intern’s usual quips, wasn’t an invention of the chestnut-haired one’s, but an insistence from the AI itself. 

_“Hahandyhe! Noho!”_  
_“I assume ‘Handy’ was the preferred nomenclature of the Handyman's Robotics and Unit Repair System at location 7482. I am the Handyman's Robotics and Unit Repair System assigned to location 9774. Please refer to me as ‘Handler’ – since I am yours, as such.”_

“Your previous occupation was controlled operation and movement of a motor vehicle, correct? Yet your feet remain highly sensitive. Quite interesting..." 

With a frustrated buck at ‘the question’, Racer blurted with a wince “I juHUst had reHEheally nice shohoes and reheallyheHE comfy SOhocks, OKAHAY?! …ahand I liked them beHEtter before you puHUnched extra holes in them! AHAND ME!”

“I see.”

With another small flustered roar of a growl, Speed shouted out ‘the question’ of his own: “WHYHEHE is EHEVERYBODY OBSEHEHESSED with TICKLIHING MEHEHE!? EHEVEN YOU!” 

“Then allow me to explain – and since song memory is separate and often stronger than default memory even in your meat brain, I will convey it musically.”  
“NO! NOOO! NO SIHINGIHIHIHIIING!” 

Despite this, Handler cued a small melodic intro that sounded like quite the grinding orchestration of processors, before layering its own crooning voice on top. “ _Well how do I begin? To describe such a ‘feeling’? And even that term doesn’t quite suffice… The way you laugh and laugh, the way to get you laughing…No matter meat or metal, it’s an addicting vice… It’s just that look on your face…the way your voice sounds too…I never thought much of it but now I’ve just got to tickle you_!”

“ThaHAt STIHILL doesn’t – AAHAHA!” the chestnut-haired one tried to protest before the AI demonstrated with side-squeezes and back-rakes. 

“ _Sound frequencies are high, maybe a little grating…and your nervous system is in a buzz…It’s intoxicating…to hold such potent power…a spike of ‘happiness’ – an upgrade like there never was! Yes, true, it leaves you breathless… energy lower too…but it’s gone right to my core and I’ve just got to tickle you_!” 

“CAhaHAN’T you saHAp my positiHIhive energy some oHOhother way?!” 

“ _It’s sad I have to stop – oh, did you think I meant now? No, little half-u, we’ve got lots of time…whether its washing up or…poking a little fun…always more combinations left to find_!” 

“Youhouhou’ve DOHONE everything alreHEHEady! BelieHEHEheive meHEheheheee!” 

“ _It’s a bond symbiotic…what we were meant to do…bodies singing electric… now I’ve just got to tickle you! Now I’ve just got to tickle you…now I’ve just got to tickle youuu_ …” 

“AhaHAA! Ihif you think I’m singing youHOUhou’re NUTS!”  
“Oh, now you DON’T understand idioms?”  
”OHHHOHO!”  
___ 

Meanwhile, the brunette found herself quietly humming along to a couple different tunes that mushroomed from different rooms as she passed. “ _Da-da da da da-da da-da-daa…da da daa da daa da da daa da daa_ …” Feeling the rope grow taut, she stopped, backtracking enough to send a telegraph via tugs and rolling vibrations. Tug-hold, tug-hold, tug-hold; pause, then tug-hold, quick tug, tug-hold. 

Feeling the rope vibrate in his fists, a tired but determined Sparky twitched, consulting his small list of her frequently used signals. “That’s another ‘OK’,” he confirmed to himself, and loosened his grip, threading the rope a bit farther through his hands until it made another sizeable coil between him and the door. “JEEZ, is she takin’ a tour of mirror Europe in there, or WHAT? …just hope you really ARE OK Trix…and hope you’re close to findin’ your guy! Well, the guy that can help you find your guy, our guy, anyway…heheh…" 

The halls and elevator shaft and giant inky reservoirs were all eerily empty and aside from the occasional radio tune, quite quiet. The feeling in the air was of a dissipated tension, as if many things had happened with many people; many harsh things had been said, many fights had broken out, but ended quickly enough. She thought she heard some splashing and squishing, as if things dredged in the ink spills and puddles around her had awoken to see and attempt to follow her – but when she turned and whirled around, there was still only the same stillness as before. 

Her skin where the ink had clung always flared with heat like a warming pad just before the sound would reach her ears – she didn’t quite know what that meant, or again why the stuff from the portal door had latched itself onto her so firmly, but it seemed convenient enough. She wondered for a moment if it happened with all who entered, or if she, as a stranger who had nothing to do with this place, had been given some kind of guidance. Or hindrance? Or warning? She supposed she would find out if she saw this Henry with the same condition or not. 

She’d begun to lose hope – when suddenly, of all the things, that exact word appeared scrawled in inky capitals across the wall in front of her. Feeling a similar burst of warmth in her heart, even if most of the other messages had been merely platitudinous, she pressed on. Eyes closing, she felt another gut pang to go right, then left, then right again. 

Beyond a balcony and a statue of the creature she now knew as ‘Bendy’ the cartoon demon, there was another spacious ink lake into a tunnel this time. A ramp and a lever seemed to indicate it was some kind of sewer-boat launch – but with no boat. None left for her anyway. However, as she carefully walked down the incline, the second of boards at the very end felt loose, and grabbing another tall thin leaning plank as a pole, she steered herself through the ominous but still dimly lit archway. 

Her hands grew warm again, followed by more splashing – but she didn’t even flinch at it anymore. Likewise, they faded, though echoed longer within the tunnel. Finally, she saw the dock and more solid floor beyond it. Pushing herself left of what seemed to be the normal mooring point; she was able to lightly wedge the raft between the posts of the jutting dock to hopefully keep it from floating off. 

No noise, but another heat flare as the sight of the next smaller archway made her jump. ‘ **NOT MONSTERS** ’ wasn’t just written but a sign hung above it, surrounded by dozens of handprints on a scattering of papers stuck to the walls like a poor folk’s mural. ‘ **WHAT AM I?** ’ was scrawled on the fence. 

OK, this place was _no_ art studio. That was just a passable front for some kind of turn-of-the-last century laboratory where all manner of alchemy and cruelty had been performed – somehow with ink, perhaps on children. 

_"You wouldn't be so cruel, would you, Doctor? You wouldn't turn those children into mammoth monsters?!"_  
_"In scientific experiments one must have no personal feelings, Professor. We must proceed only for the sake of pure science. Aaand the only way we can make sure our process can make giants out of humans is to try it out on these prisoners! Eehehehehe...heehehehe...you MUST admit that they're suitable guinea pigs for the experiment..."_

The thought only made her jaws steel, teeth gritting as her tight chest burst hotly again. Though, that was partially due to the rope flattening her stomach again. 

Looking down, she walked halfway back to the dock, sending out another ‘OK’ – but now the cord wouldn’t budge. 

She soon got a disheartening telegraph back ‘NO MORE’ – and shortly after that ‘COME BACK PLEASE’. 

‘CAN’T I’M TOO CLOSE’  
‘TRIXIE PLEASE’  
‘THIS IS FOR SPEED’  
‘CAN’T LOSE YOU TOO’  
‘TRUST ME OK?’  
‘PLEASE DON’T’  
‘I’LL BE OK’ 

A tense longer pause, then finally another reply of ‘I’M COMING TOO’ 

‘NO DON’T!’  
‘WON’T LET YOU DISAPPEAR’  
‘I’LL BE FINE!’  
‘NO YOU WON’T!’ 

With a small growl, the brunette quickly shot back ‘TRUST ME OR YOU’LL REGRET IT’ 

‘I’LL REGRET LETTING YOU GO’  
‘SPARKY!!!!!’ 

Another long pause. Then another. And another. As she let out a huff, and began to walk off, she turned to see the rope end flopping. ‘JUST BE CAREFUL OK?’ She walked over, picking it up one last time. 

‘THANK YOU. YES. I PROMISE.’  
‘GOOD LUCK!’ 

With a relieved sigh, she pivoted again, giving her Manila breadcrumb trail come-up-short one last glance before dashing forward – and immediately skidding into a dead end. Turning and sprinting back out, she spied the tall double fence doors now to her right and darted through them. 

The next hallway was missing most of its floor, though there were some planks arranged as a bridge, like several sections before across ink floods. Nothing below these but dark empty space – but there was also a considerable gap from the end of the floor to the first board. Remembering the mechanic’s plea, she pondered: jump or backtrack again? 

Another pang combined with a hot flare. Jump – jump down. 

Taking a step back and hopping off of the edge with a grunt, she flinched, but indeed saw more solid floor – beside the puddle-depth ink spill that surprisingly cushioned her fall, though didn’t leave her completely without pain. Dazed and tired, she let out a small groan as she stumbled into the next foyer, seeing the main ‘administration’ hall under the largest Bendy face she’d seen yet, a huge cute menacing stare, flanked by two fountain-esque inkpipe wells. 

Just past the rightmost well, however, she spied another strange contraption. At her first glimpse of one, it had looked like a strangely salvaged-from jukebox; then a fancy garbage can, and also an elaborate ashtray. Now as she approached it, she clearly noticed the crank on one side and the symbol-marked wheel on the other. A firm press of the button with the heel of her hand made the wheel jolt and turn to the next slot, sounding like a register’s cash drawer popping open. She didn’t recognize the symbols she saw, but twitched when she noticed one slot appeared to be blank. 

It couldn’t have just been wear and tear – the others looked freshly painted, and the machine itself looked well-maintained enough if vintage in design. She found herself staring at that unmarked space for who-knew-how-long; then half-consciously dipped the index finger of her right hand into the ink on her palm, which stuck. Squinting, she then delicately traced the best impression of her radio transmitter that she could make. 

Feeling a pressure against her left palm and hearing another inky slosh, she lifted it as a large dense glob of the stuff bubbled up. When it stopped, she stared for just a second before flipping her hand again and splaying her fingers, letting the goop drop into the open tray in front. Walking around, she turned the crank with another grunt, watching as the whole machine shook, sounding a bit like a bubbling cauldron before letting out a ding like a right margin bell, another more solid dark ball from the larger open mouth of a tray at the bottom that dropped and rolled a ways on the floor – before glowing gold and indeed taking the form of her transmitter as the strange glow faded. 

With an exhale through a wide grin, she snatched it up. Pressing the button, she practically shouted into it. “Sparky! Pops? Spritle? Chim-Chim? HELLO? Is anybody there?! Somebody answer me, PLEASE!” 

Struggling to keep his eyes open, vision splitting, Sparky jumped again, heart pounding faster when he swore he heard her voice. It was faint and far, but it had to be her. Rubbing his eyes with his now free hands, he turned to and fro like a prairie dog, finally realizing where the sound was coming from and dashing up the stairs, tripping a couple times and bashing his knee with a flinch, but not stopping. 

“Hey, Sparky! Where’re you going?!” Spritle called out, turning and shaking his dozing father as vigorously as he could. “Hey, Pops! Pops, wake up! Sparky’s leaving!” 

“Huh? What?! Sparky’s –!” the moustached one uttered groggily, catching sight of the mechanic disappearing around the stairwell corner. “HEY! SPARKY, WAIT!” 

The three then followed, back up through the trap door, up the building stairs and back out to the Mach Five where the lanky brunet sat in the driver’s seat, radio microphone in hand. “TRIXIE?! Trixie, is that really you?” 

“Of COURSE it’s me!”  
“P-Prove it! Say something only the REAL Trixie would know!”  
“Ohh! …hmm…well, remember that time after we rescued Speed and the Mach Five from going over that cliff during the Alpine Race and you were trying to fix the brakes and Spritle and I got in a fight after you asked for a can of grease?”

The brunette finally took another breath and waited through another anxious pause. Then she heard the mechanic burst into hysterics for approximately two or three minutes. She echoed it with a chuckle, practically hearing him wipe the tears from his eyes as he wound down. “It IS you! But how – how are you –!?” 

“I made a copy of my transmitter!”  
“WHAT? How – OK, nevermind. Heck if I care right now! Are you OK? Where ARE you?!”  
“I have no idea! It’s so strange and dark and empty and drippy down here, but like I said, I’m very close to the end and finding Mr. Henry, I can feel it! “ 

“If you say so…thanks, Trix…” Sparky said, and immediately quite literally fell into a sleeping slump, snoring in seconds, hand clutching the mic flopping to the seat. The boy in the beanie picked it up. 

“Hiya, Trixie!”  
“Oh, hi, Spritle! …is Sparky sleeping?”  
“Yeah, ‘coz Pops and I dozed off after a while – and we offered to switch places but he told us no way. He stayed up this whole time until we heard from you.”  
“Oh, he shouldn’t have done that…but I know he was worried.”  
“We ALL were! We’re so glad to hear from you, we all thought you were done for. But he told us you said to trust you so we did.”  
“I’m glad to hear that too. Well, I’ll be in touch.” 

Pops gently took the mic from his son, saying “Thanks a ton for checking in, Trixie, best of luck! We’ll be waiting for you outside in the Mach Five.” 

“Thanks, Pops! Talk to you soon, Trixie over and out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, original show original reboot reference: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speed_Racer_X#Differences_from_the_original_series
> 
> The original songs that Handler starts to and does sing to Speed: https://youtube.com/watch?v=MVqS8bCelnM  
> https://youtube.com/watch?v=y_hD-aVeL2k
> 
> Song that Trixie scat sings:  
> https://youtube.com/watch?v=U5dcm-qmGXU


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LOL, OK, not _quite_! First awesome pic is by [Bandit /Shark Wife Art](https://bandit-art.tumblr.com/post/178188322616/the-cassette-man-henry-ive-fallen-into-a-pit-of) and the second gorgeous pic is by [Dobermutt](https://doberart.tumblr.com/post/185490291103/time-after-time-does-nothing-ever-change) – but **TL;DR** again, as far as this AU's [concerned](https://thirtythree-skidult.tumblr.com/post/186719719814/book-of-henrys), they're the _same guy_. (๑✧◡✧๑)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey in his kitchen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Tljggf-57I&t=0m29s
> 
> **FOR THE REFERENCED/MENTIONED FATES OF CERTAIN CHARACTERS IN THE FINAL ARC OF A CERTAIN[HAJIME ISAYAMA MANGA](http://readshingekinokyojin.com/)... (๑ʘ∆ʘ๑)**

The early sunlight glinted off of the top edge of the axe blade as it swung high in the air – coming down with a sharp chop neatly through a slice of tree trunk, sitting atop a larger tree stump as it so happened. Pausing, the old man in pea green pajamas beneath a loosely tied faded blue bathrobe sighed, straightening himself to gaze at the aforementioned sunrise.

“Such a beautiful day!” he mused to himself with a smile – though it faded when he suddenly caught a whiff of something burning. Whirling around, he spied something smoking through his kitchen windows and with a jump, dropped the axe and darted back through the door, stumbling behind the counter and yanking the culprit pan off the stove. “Aw, dammnit!” he muttered, glancing at the charred eggs, bacon, and hash “Stupid of me to try and make breakfast by myself – I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on…” and promptly turning the handle to shake them into the trashcan, tapping the pan side on the can side a few times.

Putting the lid back on the latter, he carried the former to the sink where he began to wash it. Just then, even above the running water, he heard footsteps, finally feeling a presence behind him. Without even turning around, he smiled slowly. “Henry? So soon?”

“Joey, it’s really you!” the bedraggled light-brown-haired-and-bearded man in white Johnny collar and black suspender pants cried, staggering in from the one-person den he’d suddenly appeared in the middle of. He exhaled softly through a grin, though it faded a bit as his eyes wandered again, ceiling-ward and around. “Where are we? When are we? This is your house, sure, but I mean…all those letters…” All the well-wishes, certainly not something any of his equally distressed co-workers would ever pen to this man in a million years – yet, there they were, plain as day, pinned to the cork board along with albeit still somewhat depressing news clippings. If this plane was any part state-of-mind, especially his old partner’s, it only made too much sad sense.

“I didn’t expect you for another hour yet. Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

With a soft shake of his head, frown forming, Henry echoed “Joey…”

“But I know… I know… you have questions. You always do!”  
“I KNOW, I just asked you two of them…could you answer me? Or…just…TRY to listen to me at ALL for ONCE in your life?”  
“The only important question is this: Who are we, Henry?”

Meanwhile, Trixie pushed down the lever to the left of the tall metal doors with both hands and another grunt. Stepping back to watch as they slowly opened, she blinked, eyes widening as she saw the room beyond. A circular throne room of sorts, with several wide TV screens hanging down around said throne – a tall-backed weathered-leather easy chair, crowned with some kind of bent metal horn motif. There were three giant gears for steps up to it, a film reel tin on the right, and several severed TV camera heads sitting in another large leaking glop of thick ink.

Crouching and squinting at the one reel spinning in the tin/projector, a strip of tape read ‘ **THE END** ’ – the same words that were projected onto all of the screens in fancy white lettering on a black background. As she stepped back, craning her head back, she saw that there were holes in the ceiling from which light filtered down – but none brighter than the single stream that went through the seat of the throne. At further glance, it seemed more like a radiant support beam that pierced ceiling and floor with equal volume and strength.

Approaching it cautiously, she extended her right hand, dipping her fingers into the solid light. She let out a small quiet gasp as the ink on her hand became an incandescent gold, much like her new transmitter had for just a moment fresh out of the strange item-maker machine. When she slid the fingers of her left hand in, likewise, the ink glowed gold. Looking up one more time, she lowered her head, hands and arms, took a deep breath, and stepped into the beam. She felt a tingle in her stomach, as if she was not only floating, but flying. Though she had no idea where to, or which direction.

“I’m a man about as old and tired as you are who just went through ten kinds of HELL just to try and find you again!” the bearded one snapped, raising his voice – though as before, it didn’t seem to make a difference. As if Drew was deaf as a post and simply clicked off his hearing aids whenever he came around; though still attempted to appear gracious and invested in hearing anyone else besides himself prattle on. “I found your machine…I turned it on, I did everything…what else do you want from me? What else do I need to do before you’ll ACTUALLY listen to me? Answer me, DAMMNIT! …PLEASE, Joey! Just ONCE in YOUR life AND MINE…!”

Naturally, the bathrobe-clad one was in the middle of another speech of his own, only now slowly turning around and approaching the counter. “…truth is, you were always so good at pushing, old friend… pushing me to do the right thing. You should have pushed a little harder.”

With a small flustered roar, Henry lunged over the counter, grabbing the gray-haired one by the robe and shirt collar in a tight fist. Finally, the contact seemed to break the spell – the other man’s eyes finally looking into his own instead of oddly aside; one way or the other but every which way except to acknowledge his presence half the time.

“Henry?” he uttered in a small, innocent sort of voice. “What’s wrong?”

The bearded one readied his mental Rolodex of grievances, snorting out a breath and finally parting his bared, gritted teeth – when a female voice pierced the air, making them both twitch and turn.

“Excuse me, sirs!”

Trixie entered the kitchen, stopping, clutching her hands at the level of her collarbone and looking with a blink and a polite smile, glancing between the two men. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but I need your help right away!”

“Henry…” Drew began, smirk reappearing on his lips as he managed to tug away and sit behind the counter, though not taking his eyes off the brunette. “I thought you and Linda just tied the knot! …don’t tell me it was Old Man Ned-wicky making an honest man out of you!”

“WHAT?” Henry uttered, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, now glancing between the bathrobed one and the strange girl. “No, NO – it’s nothing like that! She’s not –!” Turning, he looked the girl in the eyes, his brows lightly angling. “Who ARE you, Miss? And what’re you doing here?”

“My name’s Trixie, and I’ve come a long, long way to find you, Mister Henry.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Trixie,” Joey began, rising. “Can I get a pretty young thing like you some tea?”

“Oh, SHUT UP, Joey!” the bearded one snapped, walking closer to her “A long way? Don’t tell me you followed me all the way through the studio!?” then looked down to see her hands.

“Mmhm,” she confirmed, raising them momentarily, “But you’ve got to come back with me –!”

“Sorry, Miss, but I’ve got something very important of my own to attend to right now,” he bid, throwing a teapot-fetching Drew another glare. “Can it wait?”

“Not at all!” she said, brows angling sharply, making his sweep into convexes as he twitched again, “You see, my boyfriend Speed was kidnapped by an evil man by the name of Dave Miller – and I tried to fight him, but he overpowered me. He overpowered both of us; and Speed’s normally incredibly strong but neither of us could stop him! He used some kind of robotics to turn him into a machine he could control with just the click of a button, it’s awful!”

Now Henry’s eyes went wide and glassy. “Afton…!”

“Afton?” the bathrobe-clad one echoed, brow raised.

Now it was the bearded one’s turn to knowingly, weakly smirk. “Sorry, Joey, somebody managed to tear a larger hole in my life than YOU did…and, in the end, I’ve gotta go…return the favor.” Turning to the brunette, he made a light twirl of his arm, ending with an upturned palm. “After you, Ms. Trixie.”

“Oh, thank you SO MUCH!” she said, eyes sparkling with a grin. Looking around, seeing no speck of light in the living room or anywhere else, she frowned, asking “But where are we? And how do we get back the studio?”

Suddenly, the yard door swung open of its own accord, and there beyond it appeared to be the studio entrance. Henry’s eyes grew hazy, and he uttered “Well, that’s convenient…just like a cartoon, huh? C’mon…”

Hands burning, the brunette grabbed his arm, tugging him back. “NO, don’t go in that way, Henry! It’s some sort of trap!”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” the man asked, turning, though still in his haze.

“Trust me!” she said, and instinctively reached for her transmitter, pulling it out and pushing the button to connect it to the Mach Five’s receiver. “Trixie calling the Mach Five! Trixie calling the Mach Five! Answer, please!”

Finally with a crackle, the much-more-rested-sounding mechanic’s voice came through. “Mach Five to Trixie, we hear you! Where are you?”

“Dunno what a ‘Mach Five’ is but it sounds snazzy!” Joey noted, returning to the counter with a steeping cup of tea.

“Oh it is!” the brunette confirmed. Just then, more bright light flashed and radiated from the living room, finally swirling with small shining orbs like a fairy fountain. Seeing it, she gave a relieved sigh, bidding “There’s our way out!” and glancing at Drew one last time. “Thanks for your hospitality, Mr. Joey, but we’ve got to be going!”

“Abyssinia, Trixie chickie!” the bathrobed one said with a wave and a grin.

Henry rolled his eyes but the brunette smiled, returning it as she led the bearded one back into the den and the light.

After another stomach-tingling floating flight from who-knew-when-or-where, the pair stepped out of the light beam and back into the Throne Room. As soon as the man’s feet touched the floor, the light finally faded, leaving only the lighter rays that naturally shone through the ceiling to fall faintly on the gnarled cushiony, inky throne.

Both paused to watch; Henry snorted with a shake of his head, though he simpered. “Well, there goes my last chance to talk with Joey, I guess…but…” he let out a shoulder-shrugging sigh “…maybe I never really had one, anyway.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean –!” Trixie began, but the bearded one raised a flat hand, though he kept walking, not looking at her for the moment.

“Don’t be. If that crazy bastard Afton’s got your boyfriend hostage, that’s more important.”

“Thank you, Mister…?” she began, deliberately trailing off, now looking up at him. He was silent for a while; then smiled broadly with a nod.

“Ackermann,” he answered.

“Ackermann? Not Stein?”  
“Stein was my grandfather’s name – mom’s dad, she named me after him to honor him, y’know?”  
“Oh, I see. Yes, that’s very sweet. But why did you use it when making your company?”  
“Because Joey was jealous, said my name shouldn’t be any longer than his or people would remember my name and not his. Or notice mine more, or something like that. Heck, he was still mad that ‘Stein’ had one more letter than ‘Drew’. But of course nobody really cared. All the trademarks and copyrights were finalized, though.”  
“Wow. …and, er, what about Emily?”  
“That was my wife’s name – her surname. Second wife. Again, there was a lot of copyright red tape still sticking all over the place and…I was pretty keen on starting over in a lot of ways anyway, so her name seemed like a good one to use after that.”

Trixie nod-nodded, then pausing, ventured with convex brows “What DID happen to…Ms. Linda?”

With another heavy-hearted sigh, Henry gazed up at the bare-bones wooden shacks in the harbor as they passed, flinching as his eyes misted, and letting his head hang, admitting in a quiet low wheeze “She got…lost.”

“In here?”  
“You could say that, yeah.”  
“That’s terrible! And she was never found?”  
“Oh, I…I found her. But…by then…it was t-…just…too late.”

“Oh…” the brunette echoed, hands to her mouth. “I’m so SO sorry.”

“Hey, we all have regrets, don’t we?” the bearded one said, giving her another sheepish weak smile. She nodded. 

Seeing the rope again, Trixie pulled out her transmitter and made a quick note. “Trixie to Mach Five!”

“Here, Trixie!” Sparky’s voice rang again. “What happened? You blipped out again the last time!”

“Sorry about that! But I’ve found Henry and he and I are on our way – we’re back where the rope ran out, so we shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Roger THAT!” the mechanic said, grin audible, “Well, we’re all still waiting! Let us know if you have any trouble, Mach Five Team out!”

“Roger, over and out!”

After tying the rope end to the dock – deciding to leave it for anyone else who might need guidance if they ever found themselves wandering around down in these depths – the brunette and the bearded one respectively pulled and pushed the barge out of its hidden dry dock and set it afloat on the Ink River again, with the man taking the controls while the girl collapsed to a much-needed resting sit in the back with a sigh and a lean. 

As the thing paddled back through the tunnel, Henry let out a snorting chuckle, continuing “My dad used to say…that some people say ‘Don’t have any regrets’ – but again, yeah, everybody does. At least a few. The important thing though…is to…well, come to terms with them. Then you can still basically say you don’t have any, because you don’t have any unresolved regrets. Which is…the only thing you might regret. Something unresolved, even just in your own head, y’know?”

“Mm,” Trixie acknowledged, “Makes sense to me. Your dad sounds like a very smart man.”

“He was. Though mom said he wasn’t as smart as he or everybody thought he was – guess he was still pretty popular, though.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What did your dad do for a living?”  
“He was…in the army I guess. He and mom both – she outranked him by the end though.”  
“Oh really? Ha!”

They continued their conversation as normally as anything while climbing back up the launch to the balcony and the flooded hallway, then left, right, left back to the room with the sliding walls; one of which let them back into the giant ballroom and the winding cart track back to Maintenance.

“Yeah, she always thought it was funny too. Him not so much. Anyway…but yeah, guess they joined pretty young. Dad said she always acted kinda nutty. She said she was just outgoing and getting into her field research. Mom said dad was always kinda moody and short with everybody – and he wasn’t very good with conversation, either.”  
“Ohh, hahaha!”  
“Yeah…mom always loved making that joke. Dad would always just say it was a good thing he couldn’t see her stupid grinning face anymore.”  
“Your dad went blind?”  
“Yeah, apparently he got into a really bad accident before I was born. Something about being too close to something and something blowing up.”  
“What?!”

As they reached the doorway of the lounge and the top of the tall so-called spiral stairway, with chains still rushing up and down, he paused – then made a leap off the edge, snagging one of the down-going chain links and rode it down. Trixie wordlessly exclaimed, but followed suit soon enough, catching up with him at the entrance to the narrow torn-up hallway to the strange cavern room.

“Sorry if I scared you,” Henry bid reflexively, brows convex as he waited for her. However, she only smiled with a shake of her head and bat of her hand.

“Not at all! Speed and I do that kind of thing all the time,” she insisted. When they reached the ledge, as if to demonstrate, leapt off to the right, landing on one of the hanging cages, swinging on it to reach the chain of the next lower one, sliding down and swinging over and off in a hop to the platform by the door back to the Archives.

“All the time, huh?” the bearded one called out, chuckling, and following her lead, landing shortly after, catching up to her as they rounded the bookshelves. “You sound like a pretty adventurous couple. Er, congratulations. You two been together long?”

“We celebrated our two-year anniversary this past April 2nd!” the brunette announced happily “Well, the anniversary of him asking me to be his girlfriend, anyway. Our first date anniversary was March 31st. So we’ve been together two years, four months, and twenty-seven days today!” then looked away as her face fell, gaze with it. “Although…Speed’s been held captive by Mr. Afton for almost three months now. So I guess it’s only two years and not even two months.”

She looked up, hearing Henry’s knuckles crack as he snapped his hands into shaking fists, face in a wince, cheeks twitching, looking as if he was gritting his teeth behind closed lips.

“Are you all right, Henry?”

Finally he snorted, opening his eyes though with lids still slightly lowered, giving her a strange sort of calm glower, his voice quiet but stern. “I’m fine, Trixie. But I’m sorry that my…real jerk of a last business partner robbed you two of your time together. I’ll make him pay for that, you can be sure.”

She simpered. “Don’t worry about it. This kind of thing happens too – Speed enters in races all around the world and gets into all kinds of trouble all the time. This isn’t the first time it's happened and it probably won’t be the last. But thank you for all your help; I really do appreciate it more than I can say right now.”

At long last, they reached the end of the Accounting and Finance Division main hall, the main Elevator in sight. It wouldn’t exactly take them straight to the lobby and the exit, but it would take them quite a ways out of this dark decrepit abyss.

Both of them slid to a leg-and-feet-relieving sit as the lift slowly rose, facing each other. “So yeah, Dad was blind since I was born. It was all right though, because Mom was always blind in one eye – also from an accident in the field, I guess,” the bearded one went on. “Heh…but she still never had any trouble catching me doing anything she didn’t like – or not doing the stuff I was supposed to. One time I asked her how she could always see me when she only had one eye, and she said ‘I can do everything I need to do without looking, so I can keep the eye I’ve still got on you.’”

Trixie laughed. “I never got in too much trouble with my mom…my dad was a bit harder on me. He was a pilot, and not only that, but he owns his own aviation company. We mostly sell helicopters, but we sell planes and other things too.”

“Wow, impressive,” Henry noted.

“Thanks. Anyway, I remember one time when I was younger; I told him I wanted to be a pilot like him. He said girls don’t normally do that and if I really wanted to do that then I needed to be really committed to it. I told him I would be – but he said not just about knowing how to fly, but doing my homework, going to sleep when I needed to, eating right, keeping fit… It was a lot more than I thought, and sometimes I got frustrated and burned out. And he’d still yell at me and sometimes would take me out to practice for hours and hours sometimes and wouldn’t let me go home even after it got dark.”

The man nodded, brows lightly convex. “Mm. A real hard…liner, sounds like.”

“But I remember when I finally took my exam and finally got my Pilot’s License, it felt so easy. And I passed on my first try – and I was so happy. That way I was able to fly Speed and I up to a beautiful secret spot for one of our dates. I’ll never forget the view, and the time we spent together…everything was just so…wonderful.”

They shared a grin, the bearded one adding “I bet your dad was pretty happy, too.”

“Oh, definitely! He gave me the biggest hug and said ‘I knew you could do it’. He said that’s why he had to do all of what he did and he hoped I didn’t hate him for it.”

For a moment, Henry’s eyes hazed. “I THINK my dad said something like that once…not to me, but a…some friend of his…in the army…some kid, I guess he roughed him up pretty good once, but…yeah, like you, he understood. Sometimes the strongest love can hurt like heck. For weeks. And I mean, especially for those you love.”

“Some parents, like Speed’s dad, Pops, can get physically tough with their kids. I don’t think that’s always the best thing sometimes – but I’m sure it’s the same way.”

“Yeah…”  
“You…mentioned you had a daughter, isn’t that right?”

The bearded one twitched, gaze dropping to the floor with a small nod-nod. “Yes. Lisa and I…had a girl; her name was…Charlotte …”

“I bet you’ve been a wonderful father,” Trixie said softly, smiling, “One as great as your own dad or better.”

Henry promptly tensed, doubling over as if he’d been shot point blank in the gut with a cannonball, with a choking grunt to match. “…No!” he uttered, clutching at his eyes tightly with a hand, though the tears visibly trickled down, dripping from his wrist.

“Ohh! Henry! What’s the matter? What happened?” the brunette cried with a twitch, lurching to grab his hands – then stopping, hers hovering, lips in a frown again, brows sharply convex.

“She’s…dead,” he managed to say.

“OH my GOSH, I’m SO SORRY!”  
“It’s OK. You…didn’t know.”

Finally, Trixie resumed her forward lean – only for the man to lunge at her himself, burying his face in her shoulder, shuddering with sobs. The brunette closed her eyes, hugging him and gently patting and petting his back.

“I couldn’t – he just – I didn’t – she – I didn’t – just –…” the man mumbled, soaking her shirt and shoulder.

“I’m sure that…whatever happened…wasn’t your fault,” the girl finally said, hoping she wasn’t still blindly flinging salt at reopened wounds.

“Afton…he -….he KILLED her.”  
“…What.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **OKAY, OFFICIALLY SPOILERS FOR ATTACK ON TITAN MANGA CHAPTERS 58, 69, 107, 109, 114, and 115.** But beyond that, hopefully some shippy wish fulfillment for Team Levihan while waiting for Chapter 121... And, y'know, just in general. 
> 
> Also, I swear this is the last crossover! Here's hoping this fandom doesn't turn anybody off of the story. (；ꏿ︿ꏿ)

The brunette felt lightheaded for a moment, the room around her blurring, the air feeling even stranger than it first had. To think that his wife had been lost in the inky depths, and now apparently that awful man who’d tortured her boyfriend was actually a killer? Of children, no less?

Meanwhile, the bearded one was lost in a memory – sobbing into his mother’s arms, feeling her coaxing pats, and hearing her voice; so strangely calm and quiet.

_“Henry, don’t cry…”_  
_“Dad’s gone…he’s really gone!”_  
_“It’s OK…”_  
_“I’m not ready for him to go yet. But he’s already gone.”_  
_“I felt the same way, y’know…”_  
_“Huh?”_

Finally unable to hold her breath hotly in her chest another second, the 14th Commander of the Survey Corps pierced the fast-flowing river’s surface, downing a deep gasp of air and hoping her Squad Captain did the same despite his condition, paddling for the nearest shore and dragging him up onto the bank.

Looking around, she saw they were still somewhere on the plains beyond the forest, though for now, she couldn’t tell exactly where. But Floch and the rest of the Yeagerists were nowhere to be seen. Or at least as far as she could tell – though that wasn’t saying much for now, with brain and heart rattling so loudly, feeling dizzy and nauseous and even more so when she looked down at Levi.

_“He’s dead… I saw something similar in a training accident. His organs are in even worse shape than how he looks. He died immediately.”_

“Levi…” she uttered again. Despite what she’d insisted, if a steam-broiled-alive Armin could come back from the brink, then certainly Humanity’s Strongest could. Though, the human body couldn’t possibly heal as well as Titan serum – still, he’d survived so much so far, this couldn’t be it, could it? Such an undignified way for him to die! Although, so many, so much younger, and full of the same potential had met their fates even more gruesomely under them both. She supposed trauma via Lightning Spear blast was better than being plainly struck down by enemies or rivals. Or even maybe if she had drowned him in trying a last ditch effort to save him.

In a rare moment with hands trembling not from sheer scientific joy but the most real mortal terror she’d felt among it all, she took the pulse reading she denied Forster. She swore it was there, but her own was still so loud and frame-wracking that she couldn’t even trust herself to tell.

Turning on her knees, she let her head hang, tugging off her glasses as they fogged, and buried her face in her hands, letting herself mourn openly in the middle of this cloudy gray overcast nowhere, shoulders shrugging with her deep sobs.

_“Erwin, this was your one mistake…why did you ever make me Commander?”_

Eren had gone from Rogue Titan to rogue human – once years ago humanity’s greatest hope now no less of such a reckless, thoughtless moron. But then, she’d never eaten a titan, let alone more than one. One body and mind trying to contain Coordinate and Founder, she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like. But one thing was certain: all that power and a much greater sense of mortality had consumed him.

_“You perv! Still acting rebellious, you idiot?! …child!”_ she had rasped at him, limping away after he’d grabbed her like a caged beast, growling and roaring. But his words still rang in her ears.

_“Tell me, Hange! IF THERE’S ANOTHER WAY…THEN TELL ME WHAT IT IS!”_

Even in her defeated bitterness, she could only think the same thing she uttered again now in another exhausted, near hopeless daze. “I wish I knew, Eren…I wish I knew and I wish I could tell you a thousand times over. Like everything else.”

Now Sannes’s last wounded scoff echoed back. _“The stage always needs someone in this role…when one actor leaves, another jumps in to take his place. Break a leg, Hange…”_

Suddenly, above everything still buzzing around and within her, she swore she heard that indignant snort – perhaps at the boy’s name. Pivoting, she nearly fell on top of Levi as she hovered over him. “Levi…?!”

Now she definitely felt a breath. The sky and the world may still have been dim and gray, but she felt a summer sunlight-like peaceful warmth finally drape down around her like a blanket and stop her shaking and shuddering. Half-wittingly, instinctively, she leaned down to begin CPR, putting her lips to his with no real thought – but soon found herself in an unexpected kiss in his weak clutch at her arms. His pulse was still fainter than it should’ve been, but it was there, and it was stronger than it’d been minutes ago. Likely because of their unplanned embrace.

Finally withdrawing, she sat down fully in the grass beside him, lid drooping over a tired smile, still holding his right hand. She watched his chest rise fully for the first time since she’d found him lying bloodily strewn in the grass – heaving with a cough, and a forceful clear of his throat. He squeezed her hand briefly; then raised his left to his face, fingers sliding over his eyes.

“Why the hell can’t I see? What’s wrong with my eyes?” he asked, voice still soft and scratchy, but still as blunt as ever.

“They’re badly burned, you idiot,” Hange found herself replying, giving a soft snickering snort. “What the hell did you do?”

“I had to use Thunder Spears to stop that bastard when he turned into the Beast Titan again…when I cut him out, I saved one and tied him up in that cart with a detonator tied to the Spear so he’d kill himself if he tried to move. Guess I didn’t count on him being a damn martyr…”

“Well, that martyr is alive and well apparently, now.”  
“What.”  
“I was going with the Yeagerists to that forest – where you were – and we heard a Thunder Spear explode. When I found you, you were all twisted up in the grass, badly burned and covered in your own blood. They were going to shoot you in the head – but I told them you were already dead from internal injuries from the explosion. Then, when they all got distracted by Zeke’s resurrection, I just grabbed you and dove into the river.”  
“So that piece of shit DID die – but somehow he came back from the dead?!”  
“Without a scratch. After another titan appeared and tore open its stomach, shoved his top half into its guts, and imploded itself in a giant ball of steam. Suddenly, there he was – good as new.”

With another fuller snort, the squad-less Captain let his head fall back on his right jaw with a flinch – that seemed to sting, prompting another flinch and a grunt. “If I could still see, I’d stab my eyes out at just the thought of that right now…” He paused with a longer sigh, and in a rarer moment of his own, loosened his grip on his usual defensiveness. “Zeke said…he saved them – my squad that he titanized to kill me, that he forced me to kill…he said he saved them. ‘The lives of the children they would bear in this cruel world’ or some shit like that…” He coughed again, though thankfully, it wasn’t too bloody, though sounded fairly raw. “Maybe…just maybe he was right after all…”

“Maybe you’re right,” Zoe echoed with a chuckle despite herself.

“Hmm?”

Now she grinned for a moment, flopping down beside him, gazing up at the sky, the cloud cover finally letting a few thin rays of brighter light through. “Maybe we should just let Eren and his loyalists take care of everything… Let him fight Zeke and figure out all this stupid nationalist nonsense for himself…”

“Eren?! After what he’s done?”  
“Why not? The last I spoke with him…he grabbed me and slammed me against the cell bars and shouted in my face – asking me if there was another way, besides fighting as he planned. And y’know, I didn’t have an answer for him…not a damn one.”  
“So you want to just give up? On humanity? On Paradis Island? On everyone? Everyone we fought so hard for? Everyone who died? Erwin!?”  
“Levi, YOU almost died not even an hour ago. Probably because you couldn’t help taunting Zeke, could you? You thought you were so clever with your detonator setup – but it backfired. And again, IT ALMOST KILLED YOU. As it is, it blinded and burned you. And you can’t even look where we are now, but…it’s a big empty space a ways away from the Titan Forest. It’s nowhere. We’re nowhere right now, Levi. You idiot. For all anyone knows, we drowned trying to escape.”

The Captain was pin-drop quiet at the callout, turning his head again, away from her, looking quite like he was pouting. Even without his eyes, the Commander could sense his usual glower back at her.

“We have fought. Plenty. We’ve DONE ENOUGH, Levi,” she took his hand again. “No one can say we didn’t give it our all. NO ONE can say we didn’t devote our hearts and fight for those who fell. But don’t we deserve to live our own lives just a little? …I’m so tired. Aren’t you?”

“I’m in an amount of pain I can’t describe – but having to listen to you is helping.”

Chuckling, Zoe rolled onto her side to face him. Smiling at him, she slid her head closer to whisper three little syllables in his ear. Pausing, she blushed, uttering three more that made him twitch.

“You’re kidding…”  
“Don’t you remember?”  
“No – but then that’s probably why.”

Hesitantly, he now slid a hand to her stomach. For now all he could feel was her breathing, however. Keeping it there, though, he let out another longer, vocal sigh and leaned his head all the way back.

“So just where do you suggest we should steal our presumed dead selves off to? Some other island?”

“Well, I was reading about one the other day…but it’s not its own country, it’s part of another. But they’re always open to newcomers, especially those coming from war torn lands, so it said. They even have a statue of their own Founding Female Titan holding up a light for incoming travelers with a greeting etched on its base. ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me; I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’”  
“What island and what nation is this?”  
“Ellis Island – the United States of America. It’s a neutral nation to the far south, east of Hizuru territory on the mainland.”  
“Sounds ridiculous. But then so do you…so it’s perfect, I guess.”

Hange only laughed.

Only five years later, she carried a laundry basket through the narrow hall of a modest Brooklyn apartment, peering in the back bedroom as her son lay with his father in bed, smiling broadly, leaning against the doorway for a moment.

“Tell me another story, Dad…”  
“Hmm…let’s see…did I ever tell you about the time we were trying to keep Eren and Historia away from Rod Reiss, and your Great-Uncle Kenny and his Anti-Survey Corps Squad chased me all the way through town and tried to corner me in a bar?”  
“I don’t think so – but please, go ahead! Sounds exciting…”

“So there I was on the rooftops…and he came diving down and aimed both of his guns right at me – they had guns instead of swords, because their equipment was made to kill humans and not titans. So he shot right at me, but missed by this much. Then while he was still swinging around, I RAN down the roof, bam –” even blind, he gestured flawlessly, the boy mesmerized by the motions and the story he wove with them “– jumping off, swinging on my maneuver gear, bwoosh, fwunk! I tried to keep the carriage hiding Eren and Historia in sight, but since your Great-Uncle taught me everything I knew since I was little, he was just as good as I was in the air. Then suddenly, four more of his men dropped down, shooting THEIR guns at me. Powpowpow, fwoosh! Then I saw a bar and decided to try throwing him off my tail in there. I swung in, swoosh, fwang! Kenny came stomping in, thumpthump clunkclunk, running his mouth, yammeryammeryammer. I hid under the bar. We talked some – er, crap for a bit back and forth…he still saw me as just a little kid who just learned to use a knife. But anyway…so I told the bartender to keep his mouth shut, and I borrowed his rifle and loaded it… Then he started throwing chairs at me, trying to distract me, swoop crashcrash! He walked up really close with his guns out, still talking stupid… There were still some bottles he hadn’t managed to smash up on the shelf just above me, shiny enough wine bottles, like little spirit-filled mirrors, shingshing. I stared at him in that little bottle mirror, took the gun and swung it back over my head, fwa-clunk! And fired directly behind me, BLAM-BOOM! Direct hit, your Great-Uncle went FLYING back out the bar doors, FWAM!”

“Great shot!” Henry cried, eyes sparkling, flinging up his arms and swinging them down, hands in fists with a bounce.

“Heh, thanks. Anyway, so all of his goons were still waiting for me on the roofs outside. So I threw a chair through the nearest window to distract them, crack-crash! They shot at it while I darted out after, and then I fired my maneuver gear again, fwoop-pwunk-zwoosh, and right into –!”

“All right, all right, I think that’s plenty of exciting story for one night!” Hange announced, setting the basket down and coming in to pluck up her young son into her arms, who fidgeted.

“Awww, MOM! But it was just getting good!” the boy protested. His mother only chuckled, giving him a hug and a smooch, setting him down.

“He can tell you more about it tomorrow. For now, go get ready for bed. I have to get your dad ready for bed, too.”

Taking a few steps back with a smile, Henry said “Okay. Love you, Mom! Love you, Dad! Have a good night!” before turning and scampering off down the hall to the bathroom.

“Goodnight, Henry! Love you, too!” his parents overlapped. Hearing the sink running, Zoe sat carefully on the bed’s edge, Levi scooching over a bit to give her room on the single bed, sighing and letting his head lay back, his arms sliding to his sides. His wife took his hand in hers again, leaning down.

“So…do you still think we were wrong to leave?” she asked, though smirked.

“It’s boring as hell here,” her husband said plainly, though he faintly simpered. “But…it’s nice not to worry about whether you’re safe or not. Or…whether Henry is.”

“Mm, and you, too.”

For another moment, they shared a short but slow smooch. Parting, he asked “Did you bring my tea, Two Eyes?”

She chuckled. “Of course,” holding out a freshly brewed cup.

He lifted a hand, feeling for the steam, then slid his fingers around the rim, gripping it as he slid to a higher sitting lean and gave it a contented whiff before taking a long sip.

As he turned out the bathroom light and headed to his room with a glass of water, the young boy gripped the glass likewise at the rim, sipping it before setting it on his nightstand and climbing into bed.

In the present, leaning on the elevator wall, the grown, bearded Henry went on with a hazy downward gaze. “So much has happened since I was little…I barely remember all the details of dad’s stories anymore…but…I remember how great I always thought they were. How full of action and adventure…sometimes a little spooky, but…mostly just…inspiring… I always had the most fun, wonderful dreams after hearing his stories before bed.”

“That sounds so nice,” Trixie said softly, closing her eyes with a content smile of her own. “When Speed and I…I mean, if we have a kid someday, I hope all of Speed’s stories do the same. Maybe not these past few weeks, but still…he has so many. He could fill a whole encyclopedia full of them!”

Seeing faint images of his parents sitting comfortably close and sleepy on the back bed and the couch and even at the kitchen table, teas steeping or steaming, the man nodded. “I bet he could. And I hope you do – and so help me, I’ll make sure he or she’ll be born in a world WITHOUT Afton in it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically [this panel edit](https://beatotsundere.tumblr.com/post/187311675171/nice-new-spoiler-joking-credit) is canon now. (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ LOL


	18. Chapter 18

Meanwhile in the SRE downstairs back basement Wash Room, with no third human party present, the one-and-a-half machines had all night until 5AM to tussle and banter. Technically, Handler was tasked with cleaning veteran damoiseau in distress Speed and returning him to his temporary storage in the scenery closet – but as of 12:25AM, was still happily toying with him and singing about it. Still sticking to kids’ song style, much to the chestnut-haired one’s continuing loudly voiced chagrin, despite how much raspier and breathless his voice had since gotten.

“ _Tickle tickle, little Speed; how ti-ckl-ish you are indeed! Wrapped up in this unit’s clutch, wriggling and spasming so much. Tickle, tickle, little half, how fun it is to make you laugh_!” 

“PleHEHEeeease!” said half-unit pled, “JuHUst ONE deheath threat and a KNOHOhock to the heHEad is ALL I ahaHAsk!” Even the sight of a deadly laser or sawblade spinning in his direction would be some relief among all the soul-crushing endless cooing and gitching. He’d never imagined tickling – even all the shiver-inducing unforgettably nightmarish double-teaming by Rex and Spritle – again, could be worse than a beatdown and staring imminent death in the face, let alone coming in dead last.

“ _When the pizzeria’s closed, when the master clocks out and goes; then can our night of fun begin, tickling you from toes to chin. Tickle, tickle, little Speed, most ticklish thing on Earth, indeed_!”

Finally, at about 4:25AM, Master Dave entered, looking only mildly cross, gazing up at the two and uttering “HandUnit, what are you doing?! Don’t tell me you STILL haven’t –!”

“Speedster wash and massage completed as requested,” Handler insisted, snatching the boy up by the ankles and dangling him level with the man’s height. “Feel free to verify my work.”

With a soft snort, Miller then turned and cradled Speed’s head by the jaw, pulling him close and taking a standard discomforting deep sniff of his hair, seeming to savor it with a brief close of his eyes, lips curling into a smile. The chestnut-haired one half-flinched, trying to lean away as he had when confronted by Trixie’s unavoidably rank country girl disguise.

“Mm, hair smells clean…” he mused, then grabbed Racer’s cheeks and vised them tightly to get a puff from him “Breath minty...” stepping back and swirling fingertips over his belly where gravity tugged down his shirt, sliding them to his side and skating them down and up. “Mmhm, skin scrubbed smooth and clean…!”

“HeheheheHEHEhee…” the boy giggled, twitching with a helpless grin, jumping at the swift spot switch. “KkkhhHMHMhmhmhm!”

Smirking, Dave then calmly and happily unleashed another burst of side squeezes that nearly sent him swinging with a reflexive writhe.

“BAHAHAHAAIIIEE!”

“Well…well done. I’ll admit I’m impressed. But did you also find a solution to the children pinching and scraping their fingers on his stilts today?”

“Huh? Kids? My stilts?” the chestnut-haired one echoed, blinking – grunting with another flinch as the AI righted him and sat him down on the table, pinning him with two of the tri-fingered hands, the other pair lifting his foot by the ankle and fetching what looked like some sort of adhesive bandage with a pinch of paddle brush teeth stuck to one side.

“Solution: a filler patch,” HandUnit explained, showing off the thing back to front to the manager before fitting the plastic spokes into Speed’s receded left stilt hollow. Pressing down the metal-masking adhesive with a firm few flat-palmed rubs, the AI then wielded another smaller hand, prodding and dragging a finger across the flat side of the patch. “It seamlessly and safely conceals the stilt end while delivering both vibrations via spokes and low-level controlled shock –”

“HahaHAHAha! HahaHAHA!” Racer laughed, tugging on his leg, foot wiggling, toes twitching and curling at the rather intense sensations from the described functions of the strange new thing.

“– which all result in a tickling sensation similar to that on an unmodified sole.”

“Indeed it does!” Miller noted, grinning wide, testing it himself for a moment. “And here I dared to underestimate you, HandUnit. Well done, WELL done!”

“Praise accepted and appreciated, Master Dave,” HandUnit acknowledged, “I will admit I failed to store him for the night, however. What will you have me do with him now?”

With a dismissive bat of his hand, still smiling, Dave said “Nevermind that,” and checked his watch with a downward glance and raise of his arm, “As it’s about time to open anyhow, shut him down and I’ll call the techs to put him in place for the races this afternoon.”

“Races?!” the chestnut-haired one echoed, unable to help a small, hopeful smile. Granted, it was likely nothing he was imagining; hoping and praying for – probably some usual horrible twist on the idea. He didn’t get much further than that before succumbing to the strong steady unconsciousness yank of a shutdown.

The next thing he knew, he was lying in another relatively taut wrist-and-ankle-restrained stretch on a display that apparently rotated him like a rotisserie; the room spinning briefly as he was flipped belly-up. He heard Miller making another showman’s speech as another mob of all-too-eager kids with grins and grabby fingers crowded closer and closer.

“Welcome to the Foot Race!” the man bid, sweeping out an arm and upturned palm toward his ward’s patched-up feet. “A lucky two of you will compete by each tickling one of Speedster’s feet! You may use whatever tickle tools you like, provided or brought…” he paused, both he and Speed spying several of them prying various pens and other small thin pokey sort of utensils out of their pockets, some brandishing them as if asked.

“Ohhh…” Racer exclaimed, twitching and flinching yet again as one of the techs-on-standby taped the end of a long narrow plastic tube to the corner of one eye, then the other. The other ends dipped into the necks of two large water containers that looked like empty upside-down coolers bottles. “What now?” he asked in a to-himself whisper, brows convex.

“The rules are simple: tickle Speedster as mercilessly and as much as you can in thirty minutes. The first one to make him cry the most tears from laughing is the winner!” He gestured to the containers, adding “Now, there is the matter of the left brain and left eye connecting to the right foot, and vice-versa – but we’ve set it up so the bottle on the right collects the right eye tears and…well, vice-versa. So no worries. NOW, who’s ready to TICKLE like they’ve never TICKLED before?!”

More jumping and shouting and arm and hand-waving like the energetic volunteering on the mockup pirate ship. With a truly thoughtful visual sweep and a hand to his chin, the man picked out two boys who nearly tripped over themselves and several others to get to the eponymous attraction. Their proud parental guardians looked on approvingly and waved as they did.

“What’s your name, son?” Miller asked, leaning down to one of the boys.

“Mike!” he answered.

“Welcome, Mike! …and you, son?”  
“Robby!”  
“And welcome to you too, Robby! You two ready to race?”

Both overlapped with “YEAH!” and grabbed their things, pens, feathers, and paintbrushes, clutching them together dearly.

“All right, take your positions, pick a side…” Both boys turned to face Speed, seeming to settle for the foot that they were already closest to; Rob on the left and Mike on the right. They each picked out their starting tool – but paused, turning to Dave, lest they miss more instruction and be disqualified.

The man chuckled. “Okay, let’s get set and go – buuut just to get everyone in the proper mood, let’s do a countdown! And let’s count down in tickles! Fifteen seconds, ready?” The boys nodded vigorously, already snickering and bouncing. “Tickle-tickle…tickle-tickle…tickle-tickle…tickle…tickle-tickle…!”

Racer tensed, eyes wide, teeth gritted, almost chattering in his terrified shaking. Naturally all manner of anticipatory touches flared, not unlike in the moments before Bon-Bon the Terrible’s first inanely called attack. His captor’s full intention, of course. He winced harder, trying to collect and calm himself somehow – but the noise, the unbanishable presence of the two boys and the rest of the kid crowd quickly piercing any mental veil he tried to hide in like a sewing needle to a birthday balloon.

“Tickle! Tickle! Tickle! Tickle-tickle! Tickle! TICKLE!” all of them, Dave, kids and all the other adults alike chanted even louder, as if packed into Times Square on New Year’s Eve. “Tickle! Tickle! Tickle! TICKLE! …and GO! Gentlemen, start your tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle-TICKLING!”

“YAHAHAIIIEE!” Speed yelped as Mike’s pen and Robby’s feather began dancing over his soles, tips prod-prodding and scribbling up across and between his toes. “PleHEHEhease NOhohoHO! NaHAhat my TOHOhoes!”

There was a ripple of laughter among the hawk-eyed mob – and the chestnut-haired one realized for the few seconds he could think of how much that particular plea had become a catchphrase in captivity. Maybe he wasn’t a real person anymore. He could hardly tell.

As his laughter continued, his voice pitching high and fading in and out, finally the tears welled, beaded, and slipped into the tubes; dripping steadily into each container. Rob and Mike stole glances at their respective reservoir and shared a competitive glare before resuming their vie for the prize.

“HahahaHAHAhaha! AHAHAhahahaHA! NoHOHOho PLEHEEEEASE! HahaHAAaaa!” Racer howled, flailing his head – though the tubes stayed stuck enough – as his fingers and toes curled and flexed. He’d already forgotten how ticklish his “unmodified soles” had been – but he had an aching gut feeling the stilt patches tickled quite a bit more. And, naturally, tickled more than just his feet; making those spots about on par with his toes normally. Which worked for the ‘race’ at hand since they’d helped push him to tears quicker. “AHAHAHA! HAhahaHAHAHA!”

As the time ticked down, Miller threw a glance at his watch, announcing “Only five minutes and twenty tickles – er, sorry, hm! Twenty seconds left! …and it looks as if Robby’s got the lead! But Mike’s close behind – a very close Foot Tickle Race indeed!”

Finally a loud melodic bell chime seemed to signal the timed race’s end, and ‘Speedster’ had a precious few moments to lay breathlessly panting, eyes half-rolling in his exhausted haze, brain only now finally tuning out most of what Dave was saying.

“Let’s see, let’s measure those tear volumes!” the man bid, as the two present techs lifted them onto a pair of scales, as the menisci were far too even. Granted, real tears shed equally from both ducts and without some rigging, of course he would have cried as much into one container as the other – but again, this seemed to have been planned for. “Oh, look! Why, it’s a tie! What excellent little ticklers you boys are! But hmm, let’s see…what’ll we do for a tie-breaker? …Aha! All right, everyone take a little break for some delicious cheesy-meaty-saucy-crunchy bready lunch and hurry back for the Arms Race to determine a true winner!”

More cheering – especially from Mike and Rob – before the lot darted and shuffled off toward the food counters and tables. Miller quickly gave Speed’s belly a housepet’s pat-pat before walking away as well. The two techs carried off the containers with a grunt or two, headed to the back sinks to drain them before the next event.

“Arms race?” the taller older boy muttered to himself in the now-empty room. At first his mind went to the US’s nuclear tango with the USSR – though quickly realized how the term would apply to him, wailing “OhhhHOHO NO! NaHAt under my aaaarms…!” before laying his head back, letting it hang with a softer flinch and sardonic grin.

The results of said post-lunch Tickled Armpits Race did seem to be rigged, finally putting Mike ahead of Rob – though the latter was a good enough sport to smile and congratulate the other boy. Pictures were taken with prizes and so forth.

For a while, there was an interim of sorts, during which Handler’s temporary activity book tattoos were revealed with a few quick flashes of a modded black light flashlight. This time more girls than boys darted up to grab pens and colored markers, ticklishly filing in thick black outlined pictures of cars and flags and wheels and trophies and things; as well as filled in crosswords, traced exits out of mazes, played tic-tac-toe, and circled spotted differences, as well as drawing and coloring in empty squares below questions of ‘What do you think this would look like?’ and ‘Draw a cool car for that person!’

Of course, he was uncuffed and dragged in back for another scrub with agonizing kids’ mix background music courtesy of Handler before being set back up for a special ‘Foot and Arms Race’ in which the previous winners, apparently schoolmates, decided to team up against a freshly picked pair of neighbor kids. This time, each armpit tickler was ‘helping’ add tearful laughs to their foot tickler buddy’s count. Both teams tried their best – worst, rather, as Speed felt it – but Dave discreetly gave it to the newcomers. Again, Robby and Mikey shook their opponents’ hands and congratulated them all the same. The four wound up sharing a table as they chowed on their ‘quintuple special race winner extra-large extra chocolate extra chips’ cookies which were about the size of Frisbees – but devoured no less immediately, leaving them all with ear-to-ear sticky sugar high happy grins.

As dinnertime approached, the main event loomed – and Racer discovered why his bonds allowed him to flip. His neck hairs stood tall and tense, now-shirtless back tingling and shivering as Miller explained “Welcome, my little racers, to the final round in today’s raceday! This is th’ Spinal Track! The CLT Circuit! Your last but best chance for the big win – the biggest and shiniest of all the trophies, stuffed to the brim with all the vouchers you could want!” and dramatically held up said trophy like a scene from a Disney movie that wouldn’t see the light of day any sooner than Townsend would.

“NOoooOOO! Not my BACK! PleeeeeHEEEeeease!” the chestnut-haired one yowled “PLEASE anything but thahaHAaaaat!” almost in more tears already. “PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEEASE!”

Glancing down, Dave joked “Hmm, never quite worked out that little beggy bug either – but like with the crying glitch, I suppose it works perfectly for now!” getting more chuckles from his audience. Gesturing to a large bin on the prize counter, he went on “One Back Track eligible car only a quarter! The more cars, the more laps, the more chances to be the big winner! Racers, to your cars!”

The various tiny sports car models that would predate a toy trend of the next decade-and a-half as well as a speed-talking legend piled up to the brim, the techs trying to lift and lower the batch to the floor – but were a few steps too late, the frenzied grab-for-all knocking the thing and its tiny four-wheeled contents to the floor. By the time the carpet was visible again, each kid present had at least two, some with four or five. With another flash of black light, a long twisting-turning black track Back Track tattoo appeared, reaching from the base of his nape to just above his backside. It spread widely from side to side, a few outer curves just skirting the back of his ribcage.

“Just wind your cars up with a tug back on his feet and set them spinning!” Miller instructed, chuckling and adding “Best of luck to all of you! And no worries if you don’t place – this is only the first of many race days we’ll have!”

“Noooo…!” Racer whined wearily – before jumping at the first few windup tugs and tiny spinning wheels on his stilt patches, head swinging up and back with a burst of bellylaughs as the littlest racecars wound their way around his back and shoulder blades. “AAAAHAHAHAHAHA! YAIIIIEEEEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA! YAHAHAHA! STOP! STAHAAAP! STAPPIHIHIIIIT! GEHET THEM OHOHOOOOFF! HAHAHAAA!”

Again, the cars seemed preset to roll and swerve and bump a certain way among the others, making it more of a genuine lottery than a game of who got Dave’s good graces. Some sort of magnetism between the felt-tip ink and the cars kept the latter rolling steadily even with Speed’s thrashing and bucking and shrillest, fastest guffawing yet. Now his tears dripped uncaught to the carpet, soaking it in a puddle that was a small lake by the time the last little micro vehicle lapped.

“STAAAHAHAHAHAAAP! StaHAHAAppiHIt Pleeease! PLEASE! Pleheeeease!” he wheezed, face red and tear-streaked, “I’m coHOhompleHEHEtely CRAHAZYheheHE! PLEASE STAAHAHAP! NO MOhohoHOre! NOHOHAHAhahaha!”

The winner was, coincidentally this time, a birthday boy, with a birthday girl tying for first. Second and third place got smaller trophies, tickets, and more food prizes. The rest did get free games, free candy and drinks for the rest of the evening.

One casual shutdown and out-cold carry later, Speed was back for a wash and de-stress at Handler’s hands – ostensibly. The chestnut-haired half-unit was quite still and quiet, even at what were normally jolting ticklish grabs, squeezes, and scrubs. He still twitched, smiling faintly and chuckling quietly – but was so very noticeably subdued.

As the clock ticked to 12:06PM, his handler ventured “So…were my stilt patches a success then, Half-u?” as he scrubbed at the solid layering of black marker down his back.

“Mmnn…goho awayyyyhehehe…!” Racer sniveled, closing his eyes with a pout, turning his head; even if it didn’t really do much considering the AI’s veritable panopticon-style camera view, still-eyed monitor-sona aside. “Ohor KILL ME…one ohor the otheher…!”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Handler chuckled, “So that’s a ‘solid’ yes. Excellent. I shall save them for future use and replication, then,” and peeled them off, spraying a steel polish around the edges and in the stilt hollows before applying the polishers for a stint – which finally got more of a usual laugh and squirm out of the boy.

"GAHAHAA! NooHO!” the chestnut-haired one blurted reflexively, then “Ahahee! I mean, YES! TOO MUCH! It was even torture-ier than all your usual tortures!” Wincing, he corrected “The TORTURE-IEST torture I ever got tortured with!”

“Then I suspect Master Dave was also pleased – or…what is the term?”  
‘“Pleased as punch’? Or d’you mean ‘tickled pink’? Tickled RAW, that’s what I was today!”  
“Your skin indeed flushed a great deal, but with all the heat, you were technically more cooked than raw.”  
“I was cooked the minute I trusted that man and agreed to help him with his car!”  
“So that was his…the term is ‘lure’, then?”  
“Yes! …and like a dummy, I fell for it, jig up and all!”  
“Syntax error, according to my database, there is no such idiom.”  
“No…just one idiOT. Me. Speed Dumb Racer, who after a million nutty, deadly mixups can’t tell when he’s in trouble. Even getting suckered in by the IAF for that fraternity-style stunt in front of a whole stadium…”

This seemed to catch the AI off guard, causing it to pause and lag a bit with what sounded essentially like an electronic burp. “Ah…I believe the term for this is ‘self-deprecation’?”

“Self-deprecation, self-depreciation, self-being-stupid, sure,” Speed mumbled, lids drooped, a few slow blinks to sliding shut. “Sorry if I’m getting you down. Feel free to tickle more tears out of me if you want…though…I haven’t had anything to drink since my little gel-bagged lunch. So I doubt I’ve got any left.”

Another rather thoughtful pause from the HandUnit “There is one spot I have yet to try deriving laughter from…I will attempt that now. One moment…”

Racer tiredly winced, waiting – but only felt the hands withdraw, oddly enough, which got him opening one eye to a curious squint, glancing up though not moving.

“Stimulating the ventromedial frontal lobe and nucleus accumbens in three…two…one…”

Then suddenly something sparked in the boy’s brain, resonating in a buzz that seemed to jump around before sending another shiver down his spine. But this shiver was less of a chill than a relief. Despite his weary, pain-spiking jaws, he found himself grinning widely, and felt his stomach bouncing with genuine chuckles likewise. “Heheheh…hehHEHEH! Haha! HAHAhaha!” With a sigh, he closed his eyes, holding his grin.

“Anticipating hippocampus reaction in three…two…”

“ _Onnne is the lonnneliest number that you'll ever dooo_ …” Racer crooned softly, remembering the chamber pop-remixed-in-minor-key hit from a year or so ago. “HmHMHM! …I like that song…it’s sorta sad, but it’s a good song…”

“Unexpected reaction from prefrontal cortex, noted.”  
“So what’s that mean in half-meat speak, huh?”  
“Of all the things I calculated you would do, singing was not one of them.”  
“HA! So does that mean I outwitted you? One big super-smart machine?”  
“Not necessarily.”

“So what I’m hearing is a ‘solid yes’. Hahaha!” Speed deliberately echoed, tilting his head on the table and smirking. Just then, the very vivid image of Pops’s water bucket drenching Trixie and several more of Spritle and Chim-Chim’s antics flashed in his mind, making him roll over, clutching his stomach and half-wittingly kicking. “HAHA! Hahahaha…ahaHA! Hmmm…”

Now Handler’s monitor greeted his half-unit handlee with a simple wide digital grin. “So my VMF and NA stimulation also succeeded?”

“What now?”  
“Do you…feel better?”  
“I do! …thank you…”  
“I believe the term is ‘You’re welcome’, Half-u.”

Racer nodded with a content sigh, letting his arm slide back down to his side, taking a deep breath and puffing it out through pursed lips. Those three little syllables still resonated even after the sound faded.

 _“Thank you very much, sir.”_  
_“Now that’s better.”_

_“Do you feel better now?”_  
_“Yessir. Thank you.”_  
_“Mmhm.”_

With the half-click, half-digitized crunch sound of a few keypad presses, Handler spoke up in a very different voice. It seemed somewhere between sad and tired as well. “Y’know, Master Dave’s kinda…I dunno, kind of a weird jerk, y’know? But I mean…he runs things around here, so…whatever.”

“Whatever, I guess,” the boy echoed, though still smiled; now yawning widely.

“Hey…you want me to lock him out when he gets back? I mean…he might terminate both of us if I try…but like…I dunno, could be a riot.”  
“Heh. Sure. Maybe lock him in the elevator instead?”  
“Yeah! ‘Coz like, I could just tell him it was lagging and stuff, right?”  
“Sure, whatever.”  
“Whatever, man.”

And as the AI powered down, taking the bright lights with it, the chestnut-haired one fell asleep in the for-once rather peaceful quiet darkness, even snoring by 4:35AM – deaf to his captor’s furious bellows and wall punches in the seemingly stuck elevator, that the HandUnit made a quick momentary boot to sabotage.

“Heh. Yep, he’s pretty pissed all right. Ha. Nice,” the AI noted. “More snooze time for us, though, huh? Well, until he like…probably takes us apart piece by piece and chucks us into some industrial incinerator…that’ll probably hurt but it’ll be a wild ride…”

“…hmhmhm…mm…mmhm…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_WILD FEELS APPEARED!_** （＊〇□〇）……！ ∴(O艸O★)
> 
> Song that Speed starts to sing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=haT8g7oKnns / https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNjEPHvDxZQ
> 
> HandUnit's Switched Voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBQ7iBy7BPs


End file.
